


Fist Bumps are Deadly

by palladium



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Body Swap, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-25 03:00:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22008868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palladium/pseuds/palladium
Summary: So, apparently Patrick's genes give him the ability to switch bodies with his soulmate by bumping fists. Great.
Relationships: Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews
Kudos: 107





	Fist Bumps are Deadly

**Author's Note:**

> Before you continue reading:
> 
> I wrote this during the 2014-15 season and it was mostly finished by maybe around August/September of 2015, I can't remember.
> 
> It took me a long time to think about whether or not I should post this (I mean, it's been almost 5 years at this point), because there's a scene that could be potentially triggering to people and especially at that time in late 2015 with the news surrounding Kane. I had written it out before that but I didn't want to post it back then because it felt so inappropriate and I would've hated myself for it. I also stepped away from hockey for a bit until around 2017 playoffs. I'm not saying it's any less inappropriate to post it now, but you can call me selfish I guess, because I keep reminding myself that I wrote a 26k finished fic that's been in my drafts forever and I don't want to keep staying like that. 
> 
> I'm going to leave the potentially triggering parts in the end notes if you want to see and decide if you want to read the fic. The fic is not centered around that scene but it's brought up a couple times in the dialogue and in Kane's thoughts, so I just want to be safe. 
> 
> But general notes:  
> \- I wrote this 5 years ago so a lot of it is out of date  
> \- A lot of things probably don't make sense but like... it is what it is  
> \- Lowkey started as pure crack (I wrote the Christmas Eve scene with Kane and his parents before everything else pieced together)
> 
> Anyways, here's the fic I wrote 5 years ago, finally...

Patrick doesn't know why, but when he's with Johnny, something in his body or his head compels him to give Johnny high-fives when Johnny extends his hand for a fist bump. It's like, a safety measure thing, Patrick guesses, and he never questions his gut, so. With everyone else, though, his brain doesn't ring a bell or anything, so Patrick just does whatever with them. It's just Johnny, really, that he gets this pressure at his chest, going all the way to his stomach, and then he'll stare at Johnny sort of dumbly and offers his palm instead - "Put 'er there."

Johnny squints at him without fail every time, sort of annoyed and half suspicious but he high-fives Patrick without any complaints anyway. 

And if Johnny presents his fist, Patrick will stare at it and oh, there's that gut-feeling-pressure-thing so he just wraps his hand around Johnny's fist like an idiot. Johnny laughs half the time, mostly if he's drunk, and the other half he just blinks at Patrick like he didn't get enough education in his childhood. Or even as an adult, which, okay, acceptable, but not true.

So.

He just doesn't do fist bumps with Johnny, ever. It's not A Thing, no one really gives a shit or pays that close attention for that matter, but it's still weird, and Patrick had considered asking his parents about it or even Erica and them, but he just never got the chance. 

On ice, with the safety of gloves, the pressure feeling in his gut is gone and there are no alarms going off. So on ice is okay, which Johnny also takes note of apparently because he's captain and he's fucking wack about keeping everything in check.

Which is why Patrick isn't able to talk himself out of it when Johnny comes up to him one day and asks about exactly that.

Patrick stares at him, mouth open dumbly, speechless, and promptly shuts his mouth. "Uh."

"So?" Johnny presses. He's crowding Patrick closer, and it's not intimidating him anyway since Patrick's pretty much frozen in place. "Are you hiding something that's detrimental to - "

" _No_ ," Patrick cuts in. "It's not that. I just - come on, Johnny, are you really getting mad at me because we don't fist bump?"

Johnny glares at him. "Answer the question, Kaner."

"No, _Johnny_ ," Patrick rolls his eyes. Johnny isn't his mom. "I'm not hiding anything. Not that I know of, anyway."

"What do you mean, ' _not that you know of_ '?"

Patrick's about to give up talking to Johnny. "It means exactly what it's supposed to mean, man, what else do you want me to say?" And - so, it shouldn't be a big deal or anything anyway, they've been doing their thing of not-fist-bumping-off-ice for years now, and the fact that Johnny's only getting pissy about it now suggests to Patrick that Johnny's really too invested in Patrick's life that it might be a little concerning. Johnny can fist bump all he want with everyone else, just not Patrick, it's not a big deal, who cares and life will move on.

But, of course, Johnny's annoying. Like Patrick could ever forget that fact. "I want you to _tell_ me," Johnny hisses, his voice a lot lower, and Patrick flinches but ignores him anyway. Johnny grabs his shoulders and holds him still. "Patrick."

"Johnny," Patrick whines exasperatedly, "I'm not fucking hiding _anything_. You think the tests won't show it? If it's something serious and you're suspecting me? And what? It couldn't be something _emotional_ either, it's a fucking - it's bumping fists. With you. If it was a _problem_ , don't you think it would be a little more obvious if I couldn't fist bump with anyone, period? It's just _you_ , it's not a big deal, just forget about it - "

"I'm not _suspecting_ you, Kaner," Johnny grits, he sounds pretty tired himself. "I'm _worried_. There's a difference."

"Fuck off," Patrick scoffs. "It's not anything to do with my knuckles. Or your knuckles, for that matter. And _no_ , I don't need to see a doctor to get it checked out, stop overreacting."

Johnny closes his mouth and that's that. For now.

+

They don't talk about it again until Patrick's twenty-seventh birthday.

They're on the road when it happens, getting off with a big win against LA, and Patrick's more than a little drunk at the hotel bar later in the night with a bunch of rookies and the rest of the guys with him who are sluggishly singing _Happy Birthday_ , when Johnny slumps beside him and asks about it again.

"So, the whole - fist bumping thing," Johnny starts, his words slurred. It's been a while since Johnny's been _this_ drunk and hilariously uncoordinated, and even though Patrick's pretty over the edge too, he's still laughing at Johnny's much-worse situation. Which, he immediately stops when Johnny asks The Question. "Is it just me? Am I the only one?"

Patrick blinks at him. "Yes?"

"Can we - " Johnny licks his lips and lowers his voice, leaning more towards Patrick. "Let's talk about this. In your room. Or mine. Yeah?"

"Yeah," Patrick shrugs. He downs his beer and figures he should be sober for this conversation, but Johnny's not either, so it doesn't matter, he guesses. They both excuse themselves back into their rooms, which Seabs says, "yeah, right, so you guys can open the door and hang out without us?" and Patrick scoffs and says yes, Seabs, duh, Seabs.

They say one last round of _Happy Birthday_ and then a sloppier version that gets cut off when one of the rookies fall from the stool.

As Patrick stumbles with Johnny in the hallway, they're laughing at first about the fall and then at nothing entirely. Patrick continues laughing, really, only because Johnny's laugh is kind of stupidly annoyingly cute. And funny.

They're giggling all the way to Patrick's room, since it's the closest from the elevator, and it takes three tries from both of them to finally slide the card in and open the door.

"So, tell me," Johnny says, pushing the door closed and maneuvering Patrick around so that he can slump on his shoulder. "Tell me the truth. Is there a truth?"

Patrick groans at Johnny's weight; it's making him trapped against the door and the knob is digging into his hip. "Get off me first," he complains, pushing, and Johnny ends up slumping on the adjacent wall instead. Patrick laughs and pushes him further into the room, but Johnny doesn't budge and ends up halfway to the bed and sitting on the floor with his eyes closed. "Johnny," Patrick says.

"Can we just," Johnny opens his eyes and blinks once before shutting them again. "Turn off the lights." Patrick laughs at the end of his sentence and does. Once the lights are off, it's completely dark save for the city gleaming through the translucent curtains. Patrick stares at it for a while, transfixed, as he sits down next to Johnny, his head pounding.

"Can we just what?" Patrick asks, a moment later.

Johnny's answer is delayed. Patrick has to like, knock his knuckles against his thigh to wake him up. They're both so drunk it's kind of funny, the little piece of Patrick's brain that's sober thinks. Johnny opens his mouth: "Can we just try it once?"

"Fist bumping?" Patrick laughs. Then really thinks about it and laughs harder. The thought of it - the idea, the concept, the _fact_ that it's somehow such a big deal to them, to Johnny, to Patrick even, is so fucking hilarious that Patrick can't even take it seriously.

Except Johnny's not laughing, he's wrapping his fingers around Patrick's wrist and holding it up. Patrick stops laughing to watch him bring his other hand up, closed.

It's like time stops in the split second between that point and the next, because the next is Patrick blinking asleep, and he's not even sure if his knuckles ever meets Johnny's. Johnny, Patrick's pretty sure, passes out the same time, and so the furthest they went was Johnny's hand on Patrick's wrist.

+

When Patrick wakes up, his head feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. Only he's not awake, he's still dreaming, because he sees himself asleep next to himself, holding his own hand, and that's just - that's just weird. He closes his eyes and tries to wake himself up.

Suddenly he has the urge to throw up, so he goes with the instinct to immediately stand up and run to the bathroom. As he does, he feels strangely uncoordinated, too heavy, his body too wide, limbs too long. He guesses it's the alcohol that's making him weird and leans against the toilet.

It's a long time before he's done, and by this time, he's definitely awake, he has to be. He groans, his throat hurting, rasp, and stands up in his still-too-heavy body to wash his face.

And - 

"What the fuck."

He's definitely - did he take drugs? Last night? Does his medication for his neck have side effects? Why are they only kicking in now? Why does he look like _Johnny_ -

"Johnny," he breathes, his voice - it wasn't the throwing up that made his voice deeper, Patrick finally realizes. And just - what the actual fucking hell. " _Johnny_!"

"What," someone groans from outside the bathroom, and that's - that voice, Patrick knows the sound of his own voice. That's his _fucking voice_. Patrick only has to wait for a few moments before he hears the expected - "what the _fuck_?"

"Yeah," Patrick - well, Patrick in Johnny's body says, stepping out of the bathroom, and yells. "What the fuck happened?" He's staring at _himself_ , that's - it's _Johnny_ but in _his_ body, and that's _his_ face staring back at him in horror. "What the fuck _happened_?"

"Oh my God," Johnny says, and then clamps a hand over his mouth. Patrick's not used to Johnny's voice coming out of his mouth, either, but that's what it is. "What the fuck," Johnny groans, "what the _fuck_."

"What are we going to do," Patrick says, on the verge of actually crying because this isn't normal, they're not in a movie, this isn't supposed to be an actual thing that can happen in real life. Johnny glares at him, and it's weird to see himself glaring at himself, but then again, he realizes Johnny wouldn't want to look like a crying dumbass so Patrick holds his tears back.

"You fucking tell me, Kaner," Johnny says, "what the fuck did you do?"

Patrick looks at him, squints, glares. "What the fuck did _I_ do? What makes you think I fucking did anything?"

"Well, I didn't!" Johnny's - Johnny in Patrick's body is seizing up, face red, and then he stomps off to the bathroom. Patrick tries stopping him - himself, really - because looking in the mirror when you're in _someone else's body_ isn't exactly a sight of wonder. Or a sight that's good for your health, even. But Johnny pushes him out of the way, then apologizes to his own body, and steps into the bathroom. "This can't be real."

"Yes," Patrick cuts in, and then grimaces at the taste in his mouth. Johnny looks at him. "It definitely, definitely has to be a dream. Or something. Oh my God, Johnny, what are we gonna do - "

"Did you throw up?" Johnny asks, making Patrick's face look tense.

Patrick looks away. "Maybe."

Johnny closes his eyes. "You fucking - did you rinse? Did you brush your teeth?"

Patrick throws his hands up. "That's beside the point, Johnny! I'm in your fucking body and you're in mine right now, like we're in every shitty switching-bodies comedy film I've ever seen, and you're worried about - "

"Yes, goddamn it, you're in my body, Kaner!" Johnny closes his eyes and points at the sink. "Now."

So Patrick has to wash his - _Johnny's_ \- mouth, pretty damn thoroughly too, while Johnny-in-his-body watches intently. "You're next," Patrick says, because even though he might not be as worried about his personal hygiene in their current situation, it's still something Johnny should return the favour too. Which Johnny nods curtly and does.

Afterwards, when Patrick's sure that anything he might be eating today, or anything Johnny will let him eat, is just going to taste like mint and toothpaste, they sit on the bed for ten minutes just - staring at the window and then at nothing.

It's five, way too early to start packing but way too late to get an act together in time so no one suspects that they're both not _them_ , or even try to switch back because they don't even know _how_ they switched in the first place. Patrick brings up the beers they had, or maybe it was something chemically related and in Patrick's body last night, since he was basically drunk off happiness and pride and he's twenty-seven and all. Johnny's not answering the whole time, though, just staring at the window, then at the floor where they'd slept, and then at his - _Patrick's_ \- hand.

"Wait," Johnny says, too sudden, and Patrick jolts. He glances at the clock and it says that they've been awake for an hour now, but it really feels like seven. Johnny twists to look at Patrick, face scrunched, and oh, Patrick finally knows what his mom means now when she says he makes that face all the time whenever he's confused or disgusted. Johnny stops, though, frozen, then stares down at Patrick's hands again.

Patrick groans loudly. "What? This isn't the time to be mesmerized by my hands, Johnny - "

"Your _hands_ , Patrick," Johnny starts, looking at said hands in horror then in stupefaction. "Oh my God. Hold your fist out, come on."

Patrick blinks at him. "Right. What?" Johnny doesn't wait for him to get on board and grabs his wrist. There's a sudden moment of déjà vu that automatically clicks in Patrick's head - well, it might be Johnny's head and brain, but Patrick swears it's all his thinking right now, if the random cravings for beef jerky he always has didn't make it evident enough - and oh, right, yes, _that_. "Fist bump," Patrick says, dumbly.

"Fist bump," Johnny nods, and then proceeds to bump their fists together.

Nothing happens. They bump fists again. Nothing. Again, making sure their third try has their knuckles perfectly lined up as if it'd make a difference. _Nothing_.

Patrick bursts first. "Wait, what makes you think I have magic fists or whatever?!"

"I don't know!" Johnny shouts, sounding more and more terrified by the second. "It was the last thing we did last night before you fucking fell asleep on me!"

"You fell asleep on me too!"

Johnny closes his eyes, pushing his palm in his hands and then burying his face in both, slumping further into the bed. "What the fuck. What the _fuck_."

Patrick pats his own back - well, Johnny's back now, for the _meantime_ , hopefully - because he doesn't want wrinkle-stress lines prominent on his face. He's not thirty yet, it's still too early to have wrinkles. He grimaces for a second at his hair too; it's too early to be bald too, he thinks and reminds himself to get it checked out finally once they switch back.

 _If_ they switch back. Patrick shakes that thought away. They _will_ , they - they just need to find the cure. Or whatever that set them off. Also, Patrick doesn't have magical fists or anything, as Johnny had just proved, so it definitely can't be that.

"Drugs," Patrick decides, saying it aloud, and Johnny whines into his hands. Patrick's going somewhere with this: "Sharpy."

"Sharpy's not _that_ much of an asshole, Kaner, Jesus!"

"Okay, point," Patrick says, and then thinks. "Maybe I was right. Maybe it _is_ my medication."

Johnny looks up. "What?" He sounds half annoyed and half interested, but it's still weird to hear him talking with Patrick's voice.

"The pain killers Will made me take after my neck and collarbone fucked up that night in Florida. Merk said to take them and do exercises and shit." Patrick touches Johnny's neck as he says it, only to realize that he's touching _Johnny's_ neck and not his own because oh, right, he's not in his own body.

"Terry agreed with them too?" Johnny asks. "What, are they specially prescribed shit or just normal pain killers?"

"Special," Patrick shrugs. Johnny touches Patrick's neck and then winces. "What? Don't fuck up my neck even more, man - "

"Obviously, I won't," Johnny scoffs, grimacing before his features smooth out. "I just - I didn't know you were still dealing with it." He's stroking the skin of Patrick's neck now, and Patrick feels his stomach twist. "I'm sorry."

Patrick shakes his head. "Nah, don't worry about it." But it's Johnny, he's worrying already. It's something Patrick both likes and hates about him: the fact that Johnny _worries_ so much about everyone except himself. Johnny - in particular, Johnny's health - matters just as much as the other guys on the team, but if Patrick has to be honest, Johnny's probably the one he worries about most. "It's better, it's fine," Patrick continues, rubbing Johnny's neck again, "it's just something I have to deal with like everyone else does in the aftermath of their injuries."

Johnny looks pained. For a moment, the fact that they've switched bodies isn't even the biggest problem, but then Johnny's phone rings. It's his alarm. Johnny shuts it off and then looks at Patrick again in horror, coming to realization once again.

Patrick nods. "Yeah, Johnny, there's still a bigger problem here we need to solve."

" _Fuck_."

Then, after what feels like an hour of just staring off into space and awaiting their impending doom, Patrick finally claps his - _Johnny's_ \- hands together at some point, and says: "Alright, maybe if we do the thing they do in movies, like holding hands, closing our eyes, and imagining being back to ourselves at the same time, it'll work."

Johnny keeps staring off into space. Patrick's snaps his fingers in front of his face and that doesn't work, either. Johnny's frozen in fear. Patrick rolls his eyes. Whatever, being stuck in Johnny's body is way worse than being stuck in his, he thinks, and kicks Johnny's ankle.

"Ow, motherfucker," Johnny glares.

Patrick makes a face at him. "Stop sulking. Did you hear what I suggested just now? I said - "

"No," Johnny cuts in, voice hard. "And shut up."

Patrick's about to bring up the fact that Johnny's basically telling himself to shut up, here, but instead he just continues staring off into space again. There really is nothing they can do at this point except that, apparently.

Finally, though, Johnny stands up at one point and says, "okay, here's what we're gonna do," and Patrick just stares up at him dumbly, mouth open.

So, they try to spend the next hour planning what to do and how to do it, but it mostly results to them freaking out even more. Or, well, Patrick's freaking out and Johnny's probably holding back the urge to beat his face in. Either way, this whole situation and how to get out of it scot-free is already proving difficult.

"We're going to pull this off," Johnny says, certain, but Patrick's more concerned about the fact that they're going _this_ route rather than, oh, Patrick doesn't know, like searching up _I switched bodies with my teammate_ on Google? Or even calling Q for help, even though there's a ninety-percent chance he'll just think they're both still drunk. Or even calling Johnny's or Patrick's mom for help, maybe like, it runs down the family and - 

Okay. That's the most ridiculous idea, Patrick thinks, and ends it at that.

So in the wee hours between freaking out about the whole switch, and then complaining about each other's dicks - which is totally normal - and then finally figuring out what to do, Patrick's learnt more things about Johnny than he has in the past six years with him.

"What, like, you have a brother complex?" Patrick twists his face. That's just - that's not something he wants to know.

" _No_ ," Johnny groans, sounding too annoyed to explain but does anyway. "It's not just my brother. It's like this habit I have where I sometimes mention people that are - important, without really thinking about it." He says this in a smaller voice, looking more than a little embarrassed, and Patrick laughs at him.

"So you mention your brother whenever you can?"

Johnny glares at him. "No, dumbass, if you paid any attention to my interviews you'd fucking know - " and then he stops, clamps a hand over his mouth. "Never mind," he grumbles. "What about you?"

Patrick tells him what a coincidence, he has a sister complex, only it's mutual and it's less gross than a brother complex. He tells Johnny about his obsession with toy cars when he was six, which, okay, is irrelevant but still worth mentioning. He tells Johnny about being a basketball player if only he weren't so great at hockey, and then about the truth behind his real height.

"You're not actually five-eleven," Johnny says blankly, and Patrick blinks. Johnny gestures at himself - at Patrick's body - as if to say, yes, Kaner, duh, I realized. "You're like, five-nine."

"Nine and a half, actually," Patrick corrects and Johnny just snorts.

They talk about the particular way they play; what ticks them on the ice and what sets them off; what they do to relieve stress and pressure on a game day; what exercises are the most useful; what their diets are like. As it turns out, though, half of the information they share they both had already known about each other.

"Yeah, I knew about your stupid pre-game routine," Patrick rolls his eyes. "You just work the shit out of yourself and then eat a bunch of protein like crazy. Did Julie say that's a good thing to do to your body, because it doesn't sound particularly healthy, man."

"Shut up, I-take-pre-game-naps-to-increase-my-scoring-chances," Johnny mocks.

"It works," Patrick shrugs and then kicks Johnny luggage so that it falls over. Johnny shoots him a glare. "Whatever, freak, that's my stuff now, don't go out carrying the wrong bag." Johnny snorts like _as if I'm that stupid_ , and Patrick just kicks at it again.

Later, Patrick's elbowing Johnny for more space in the mirror, because he's trying to fit into Johnny's stupid road outfit, and it's basically not something he would decide on wearing, ever. "What's up with you and black suits, man?" Patrick asks, genuinely confused. He's seen the inside of Johnny's bag too and it's black, red, black, black, black. "It's not like you look badass in black or anything."

Johnny rolls up the sleeves of Patrick's outfit, grimacing at him through the mirror as he eyes him up and down, judging. "Says you, asshole."

"I'm _you_ , asshole," Patrick mocks. "At least _now_ you get to look badass," he says, smirking as he basically checks himself out. He realizes this and immediately stops, while Johnny just gives him a disgusted, did-you-really-just-check-yourself-out-in-the-mirror? look and Patrick does his best to ignore him. He can check himself out if he wants to, but he'll stop for now, since he's not actually himself right now and instead, he has to move around in _this_ lame body for the time being.

"Whatever," Johnny says, and then refuses to keep staring at the mirror because holy _shit_ , they are in a fucking movie. They are in every shitty switching-bodies plot's attempt at comedy film. And it is not good at all.

+

They end up carrying the wrong bag. It's a simple slip-up, they're too busy first complaining about each other's suit choices, and then discussing about their game and the way they play and how the fuck are they supposed to deal with the team - too invested, basically, in the fact that yes, this is real life and they've both switched bodies - that they just _forget_.

No one notices at first, and they sit through team breakfast silent and occasionally glaring each other down about their food choices and knocking knees to say, _hey, stop fucking downing the milk, I know you're a little lactose-intolerant, you motherfucker_ ; and _Kaner, stop eating the bacon, I swear to fucking God, you're making this too obvious already_ ; and _go for the fucking slaw or I will kill you in your sleep before we can even figure out how to switch back_.

Until, of course, Shawzy squints at the tag on Patrick's bag when they're about to load it into the bus and says, "Johnny, why are you carrying Kaner's shit?" And then he squints at Johnny's bag. "Kaner... you too. You're carrying Johnny's shit. Um."

"Uh," Johnny says, in his best Kaner-voice, which Patrick glares at him for because no, Johnny, you didn't have to imitate my voice, that _is_ my voice, dipshit. But clearly Johnny is too much of an idiot and an asshole, because apparently he didn't get the memo to act cool and keep this on the DL. "I'm not?"

"Don't worry about us, Shawzy, you worry about your own things," Patrick says, and even though he's trying hard to _not_ try hard, Shawzy still squints at him like he'd said something wrong or weird. "What?"

"Nothing," Shawzy says, still suspicious. "That just sounded like something Kaner would say."

And oh, for crying out loud, it did _not_.

"Bullshit, I do not - " Patrick starts instinctively, before he catches himself and immediately shuts up, eyes wide. He was just about to say he doesn't sound like that, and that would've just been the end. There's only one way to save himself, he thinks, and blurts out: "I don't sound that stupid." Shawzy laughs, patting Patrick on the back like Johnny, that was good, I'm so proud. Patrick is so not amused as Shawzy laughs his way as he climbs onto the bus.

"True," Johnny mutters under his breath in agreement, using what he calls Kaner's douchy voice. Patrick glares at him.

"That was not for you - or me, okay, it was just - I was trying not to blow our cover."

Johnny laughs and Patrick flashes him the middle finger as they get on the bus.

He tries his best to fall asleep on the bus ride, only it's not as easy as it looks, because he's Johnny now, with Johnny's long arms and his stupid big legs. He crosses his arms but his elbows dig uncomfortably into the armrests, and Patrick really took his own body for granted. He might have wanted to be a little taller and bigger in some points of his life, but being small had its privileges too. He glances at Johnny who has tucked his chin into his shoulder, arms crossed without any sign of discomfort or digging into anything, and Patrick envies him. 

"Psst," Patrick hisses.

"Shut up," Johnny knocks his hand on Patrick's - well, actually, his own arm, and grunts while he turns his head away from Patrick.

For a while, Patrick kind of just stares at his own hand on Johnny's thigh, or rather, Johnny's hand on his thigh now. He holds up his hand and examines it for a moment, thinking back to what Johnny said about last night, and then shakes his head. He drops his hand back down, and then another thought occurs - their perspective has changed. It hits him in the face that, _this_ is how it looks like if he was Johnny and he saw his own hand on Johnny's thigh; and _that's_ how he sleeps like looking through another person's eyes. It's fucking weird, and Patrick shoves Johnny's hands away. He sits through the rest of the bus ride, restless.

Even when they board the plane later on, Patrick still can't get himself to fall asleep. He's basically been trying to fall asleep for hours now, first on the bus and now on the plane. It sucks and it's boring, because everyone else is fast asleep mostly, even Johnny, and Patrick keeps trying to wake him up so he's not alone. It might be an asshole move, but Patrick tries.

"We have practice tomorrow morning," Patrick whispers, elbowing Johnny. "Also stop sleeping with my chin tucked into my shoulder, it fucks up my neck sometimes."

Johnny immediately straightens and touches Patrick's neck, wincing. "Fuck, sorry."

"It's fine. Here," Patrick waves, tilting Johnny's - _his_ \- chin a little, just enough that he knows will relieve the pressure put on his neck from sleep. Johnny lets him, and he looks at Patrick kind of stupidly thankful when it does just that. "Better?"

Johnny nods. "Yeah, thanks."

"I'm doing it for my own body," Patrick rolls his eyes, but Johnny smiles anyway.

"I know," he says, voice sincere. "I'm glad that you're taking care of yourself." Patrick side-glances at him, embarrassed, and doesn't say anything. Johnny doesn't notice. "And I know there's practice tomorrow. We'll figure it out by then."

"You're so sure?"

Johnny shrugs, leaning back against his seat and kicking his legs up, now that he's able to with Patrick smaller form. Patrick stares with jealousy. "I'm sure, Pat," he says, and Patrick doesn't know why - if it's the way his voice sounds or something else, but he believes him. And for the first time since the morning, Patrick's relaxes.

But when they land at the airport, Patrick swears his blood pressure shoots all the way up again.

"Johnny," he whispers furiously, "I hope you're not expecting me to go back to your place while you go to mine, because I swear - "

Johnny glares at him. "We don't exactly get a choice, Kaner. If you go back to your place, you have nothing that fits my body, and plus it would be fucking weird if you go to Trump while I go back to Lincoln."

"Oh my fucking God, I didn't think this through, Johnny," Patrick cries, still trying to keep quiet. "We have to figure how to switch back or I'm going to lose it."

"Trust me," Johnny says, exasperated. "I know."

Sharpy interrupts them out of nowhere, hanging an arm on either of their shoulders and Patrick jumps. Sharpy stares at him and laughs. "Did I scare you, Johnny?"

"Uh," Patrick blinks, chest pounding like crazy. Johnny glares twice as hard at him. Patrick clears his throat. "No."

Sharpy's not paying attention, though, crowding closer to Johnny instead, and instantly Patrick feels himself frowning because no, Sharpy, that's actually Johnny, and I know you like me better, but I'm in Johnny's body right now. Except he can't actually say that aloud, so he has to watch while Sharpy talks to Johnny and Johnny trying his best to act like him. At some point, Seabs joins in and - knowing Seabs is more close with Johnny, it's then Patrick's turn to get his act on. Which, really, isn't _too_ hard, considering he knows exactly how Johnny talks to Seabs: like a suck-up. Johnny denies it, but it's true.

And then, of course, things are going okay until Patrick overhears Sharpy mentioning coming over to Patrick's place and Patrick and Johnny both freeze. Sharpy's saying, "let's just have a couple of beers at your place. Abby has her night out tonight and I don't want to waste having a babysitter."

"Uh, I'm busy tonight," Johnny says quickly, and Patrick jumps in by agreeing.

"Yeah, Kaner's super busy tonight, no sleepovers."

Sharpy and Seabs both glance at them, confused. Sharpy blinks at Patrick and then turns to Johnny. "Is Tazer giving you fake errands to do again?" He turns to Patrick and Patrick flinches. "Stop being such a controlling asshole, Tazer."

"He's right," Seabs says. "What're you making him do this time, Johnny?"

Patrick's sweating like crazy. "Um. He has to sleep early so he can wake up tomorrow morning and have breakfast before practice?" He tries very hard to not make it sound like a statement he doubts, but it's too difficult. Johnny's basically frozen in mid-glare now.

"Okay, acceptable," Sharpy shrugs, but he's not letting up, Patrick _knows_ he won't let up, and this is bad. "I'll make sure Kaner doesn't go past his bedtime, how about it?"

Patrick swallows, speechless. Johnny's face is just one expression now, one that Patrick is sure he wouldn't have looked like if he was just asked to hang out and have beers. Well, _normally_ , anyway; but now is a very different predicament in which that is a terrible idea that Patrick does not agree with, ever. He ends up choking out, "okay," because really, what else can he say?

And then he also gets a lecture from Seabs afterwards about how Patrick's an adult now, he's matured, Johnny, you can stop baby-ing him now. And all Patrick can do is nod and agree. Which, he _does_ agree with, anyway; Johnny did baby him for a while back then when Patrick was reckless about his image but he's twenty-seven now, things have definitely, definitely changed. Obviously.

It's around an hour or so later when Patrick finally gets to Johnny's place, because he hasn't actually driven there once since Johnny's moved there. It's not hard, though, since Lincoln Park isn't too far from Johnny's old condo, which was close to Trump, but it still takes a half hour of maneuvering around and then trying to not seem suspicious as he parks and goes into 'his' mansion.

Patrick snorts in his head because, right, of all people to buy a mansion - and a five-room one at that - he hadn't expect Johnny to be that guy. But, here Patrick is, standing inside Johnny's mostly-empty, super unnecessarily big mansion where each room is like a hotel suite. At least Patrick can change rooms five times a week and look out at a different view of Chicago each night, which would be relaxing and much needed at this time of his life.

He sort of shuffles around the house, exploring, judging, lounging before he glances subtly at his phone and promptly freaks the fuck out.

They forgot to switch their phones. He still has his own phone. Johnny has _his_ own and Sharpy - 

Okay, Patrick breathes, it's going to be okay. Sharpy probably won't realize and Johnny's smart enough to figure out that he has Patrick's phone and he'll hide it from Sharpy, definitely.

Only Patrick's phone conveniently buzzes right at that moment and it's a text from - surprise, surprise - Sharpy, saying: _Right, I'm not even going to ask why Kaner has your phone. You two are getting weirder each year together and Seabs is right._

It takes Patrick a few tries, drafting a few texts in the note app, and finally pasting it in the convo. And even then, he's reluctant; he's texted with Johnny enough to know how he texts like, and to make sure, he just re-reads his convo with Johnny, but Patrick's still not sure if Sharpy's going to fall for it. Sharpy knows him like Seabs knows Johnny, and if anything, Sharpy will be the first to find out something's up if Patrick fucks up this one text.

 _shut up sharpy_.

Johnny says that _all the time_. Patrick reads through their convo and half the texts are, if not _did you eat_ , it's _tell sharpy to shut up_. So.

And it works, great, because Sharpy replies with _grumpy you're not hanging with us, aren't you?_ and it comes natural to Patrick when he texts back, _not grumpy_. Because if there's anything Johnny does best other than hockey, it's denying his true feelings. Patrick rolls his eyes once he reminds himself of it.

Sharpy doesn't answer back, so Patrick decides he's safe and goes for a shower.

Except, oh, right, he's in Johnny's body. Which means he's staring down at Johnny naked, which means he sees Johnny's dick, which means he's going to have to _touch it_ \- and oh, God. He's gonna have to wash himself except that actually means he's washing _Johnny_ and that's -. Johnny's going to have to wash _his_ body. Patrick didn't think _this_ far.

He stands there for ten minutes wondering what to do, but then he realizes he can't _not_ shower or Johnny will like, fight him about it. So. Fifteen minutes later, he's in the shower - which takes him actually another five to figure out how it works, fucking complicated shit - but once he's in, he's basically frozen in place. "Okay," he breathes. Johnny has to deal with this over there too, so. It's not - it's okay. "Okay, let's fucking go."

He opts for thirty-minute showers usually, when he's home and he's got nothing else planned for the night, but he's _Johnny_ now, in Johnny's mansion, with Johnny's face and his body, so Patrick showers for ten and then gets out quickly. He figures the first time will be hard, as he stares at Johnny's dick like in part-horror, scrambling to get some clothes on, and thinks next time will be better. Or, maybe they'll switch back magically tonight while they sleep and there won't be a next time - 

For now, though, he's tired. He kind of wants to text Johnny about it, like, how did Johnny deal with it? Or, if Sharpy's still over, how _will_ he deal with it, because Patrick swears if he totally skips out on that and passes out, Patrick's gonna kill him. But he trusts Johnny enough, for this at least, and lets it go. He's going to have to remind Johnny to switch phones tomorrow, though, and then maybe set some rules about snooping on each others' phones, or else this whole thing will get too obvious to everyone on the team, too fast.

When he's ready for bed, he'll admit he could've chosen the four other rooms that were un-used but whatever, he chooses Johnny's bedroom just because it's like, the most comfy and the view is the best _and_ he's got a picture of the team with the Cup in there. Those are the only reasons, though, Patrick thinks as he falls asleep in Johnny's sheets with the lights of Chicago beside him.

+

Johnny calls him at seven in the morning. Patrick's buried into the sheets, groaning, because he swears he set an alarm later than this. " _What_."

"Get up," Johnny says, sounding so tired, and Patrick groans back. "Kaner, get up."

"I'm up," Patrick whines. "What do you want from me?" He's still got his eyes closed, actually, but he's going to blame that both on the sun and Johnny for not buying drapes for his stupid room. And - oh, right. _He's_ Johnny. It really, really wasn't a dream.

Johnny's voice is both low, intimidating and exasperated to the point he doesn't want to deal with anything. "I have questions for you," he sighs, and Patrick freezes because, it's Johnny, he's - of course he's judging Patrick's lifestyle ten times harder than Patrick judges his choice of toilet paper brand. It's just a thing Johnny does. "The first question is, what the fuck do you eat for breakfast?"

"There's, uh, Special K bars in the cabinet above the sink. They're from my sisters, okay, don't judge. Also there's Gatorade in the fridge." Patrick swipes at his - Johnny's - hair and kicks at the sheets. "I swear I was going to hit the grocery store once we got back but then we switched bodies and - "

"Right," Johnny cuts in. "Second question," he pauses, and it makes Patrick's stomach jump with anticipation. "Why did your housekeeper come at six-thirty in the morning?"

"Becky's new," Patrick mumbles, "I gave her my schedule two weeks ago and I guess she forgot or mistook a day or something..." Whatever, though, Becky's already been a hell of a lot better than Patrick's first meeting with his old housekeeper Julie. It didn't help that she tried to flirt with Patrick either, considering she was at least thirty years older than him and reminded him of his mom and Julie, their team's dietitian, combined. "Sorry," he adds, muffled by his palm.

Johnny sighs. "It's fine. Let's just - let's talk about how practice is gonna go down today."

Patrick reminds Johnny to take the meds for him and to switch their phones before climbing out of bed just as Johnny starts off the plan.

Johnny picks Kaner up, and the first thing he does is ask what did Patrick eat, tells him he took Patrick's meds like he said, and then - "let's do the fist thing one more time." And if Patrick wasn't already familiar with the original context of this conversation, his mind would've really wandered to a different route. "Hold out your fist."

"Come on, Johnny," Patrick groans. "I don't have magic fists, I thought we established this." But he holds up his fist anyway. Johnny bumps their fists together and nothing happens. It's expected. Johnny closes his eyes for a minute and then starts driving. Patrick doesn't get how his mind works sometimes. "Why are you so insistent about this fist bumping thing? What - what makes you think it _caused_ this? I mean, don't you think it's a little - or, pardon, _more_ than a little unbelievable?"

"Well, I'll fucking settle for the unbelievable if that's what it takes," Johnny grits, frustrated, slamming his fist on the wheel and they swerve a little. Patrick squawks. "And maybe the thing that caused it is something unbelievable in the first place, because switching bodies isn't very fucking normal and ' _believable_ ', Kaner!"

"Okay!" Patrick yelps, grabbing the wheel to steady it and then holding Johnny's wrists. It's weird, for a split second when he realizes just how perfect his - well, Johnny's - hand fits around his actual wrists. He shakes his head. Patrick, concentrate. "Okay, Jesus. Alright, we'll try the unbelievable, just - _God_ , just please don't _kill_ us before then."

When they get to the Icehouse, Johnny doesn't say anything the whole way, just glares at everything and anything. Shawzy pats him on the shoulder, just as Johnny goes into the locker room. "Bad morning, Kaner?"

"Yes," Johnny says, voice hard, pushing Shawzy away and oh, great, now he's making Patrick look like an asshole. Shawzy looks over to him instead, probably for comfort, and Patrick smiles and gives him an _I don't know, he's like that_ shrug.

"Whoa, moody, aren't we, Peeks?" Sharpy chirps, across the room and Johnny doesn't even look up, just sets down his bag and glares at all of Patrick's equipment that he'll have to get used to until they switch back. "Hungover from two beers? Age does that to you, let me tell you that."

Patrick sets his own bag at his stall and sighs. It's going to be a long morning, he realizes, as Saader sits down next to him and proceeds to ask him for advice as captain.

+

"You wanna try centering today," Q repeats, clearly unconvinced and unimpressed, as Johnny nods. Q closes his eyes and sets his board down. "Right. Kaner, do you remember how that went last time?"

"I thought it went alright," Johnny says, totally lying too, because Patrick remembers Johnny yelling at him the whole time during practice. "I just want to try it again."

Q snorts. Patrick comes up to them and Q stares at him. "Oh, great. Don't tell me you suddenly wanna go on the wing now, Tazer?" Patrick shrugs and nods. Q sighs and grunts at them both. "Just be damn good and anything's fucking fine with me."

Shawzy goes on the ice with Patrick, and as he skates up to him, he's jumping up, looking at Patrick with a huge grin and Patrick just - tries to catch him with one arm while his other hand instinctively reaches for his neck. "What the fuck?"

"Sorry, Johnny," Shawzy says, a little confused, blinking at Patrick. "I guess you're not in the mood today?"

"In the mood for _what_?" Patrick's staring at him incredulously, because seriously, what the hell. "Why did you suddenly jump at me?"

Shawzy frowns. "It's something we do," he says, quietly. "You... forgot?"

And oh, fuck. It clicks suddenly in Patrick's head that right, there's this thing Johnny and Shawzy always do. It's kind of adorable and - okay, that's beside the point. But anyway, Patrick knows that they do that. He _should've_ known. "Oh! Right, um. No, I didn't forget, buddy. Let's do it again." They bump shoulders properly, but Shawzy's still frowning and fuck, Patrick's such a terrible person. "Sorry, bud," he says. Shawzy shakes his head. "I'm just tired."

"I know, don't worry about it," Shawzy says, giving Patrick a small smile, and skates off.

The rest of practice goes by tensely. Johnny won't talk to anyone but he's playing like usual, only in Patrick's form, but he's not doing so well with some of the lines he's put in on. Q looks like he's about to either kill him at any given moment or cry tears of joy, because - "Kaner! If all I gotta do is place you on a line with Saad and you're good to go even as a center, then fucking tell me so earlier!" Patrick rolls his eyes.

"What's up with you?" Sharpy asks the next time they're on a line together. He's tapping at the back of Patrick's knee insistently, and Patrick pushes at him. "You're quiet today, cap. Usually you're yelling your head off if no one's cooperating during practice."

Patrick groans. "Who's not cooperating?"

"The tag team, duo, crime partners - you and Peeks," Sharpy says, finally, kind of exasperated like come on, Johnny, you knew this. "Did you guys fight?"

" _No_."

Sharpy stares at him. "Also you didn't do your mini pep talks before practice today. Bicks was surprised, man. Should've seen the look on his face. He was kind of hoping for one today."

"Bicks likes the pep talks?" Patrick grimaces at himself, because even he has to admit he doesn't actually listen during Johnny's talks. It's mostly Johnny yelling about team core and rookies stepping up and everybody holding hands like _we're all in this together_. "Huh."

"Yeah," Sharpy snorts. "Like you care whether we liked them or not." He pats Patrick's helmet and skates away.

At the end of practice, Q tells Patrick to talk to him afterwards, and Patrick looks over to Johnny in panic mode. Johnny shrugs, the asshole, and Patrick says a meek, "yes, coach," and waits to die.

"You asshole," Patrick whispers, stomping up to Johnny in the locker room. "You have to come with me."

"Why?"

"Why," Patrick closes his eyes. This is - it's just, too much. "Why - because I'm not the actual captain, Toews, and you fucking are!"

Johnny kicks off his skates and stares up at Patrick in a way that is disturbing. If Patrick had ever wondered about how it would be like to look angry at yourself because he was curious, he's sure as hell not anymore. It's just weird. Granted, he's done it to himself in a mirror before, but - it's not the same when it's _real_. "So? He's probably just going to ask you about some stuff before the next game, and maybe tell you to look over some videos. It's gonna be fucking fine, Kaner."

"You're just - " Patrick clenches his fists and hauls Johnny up by the collar of his jersey. No one had been paying too much attention to them before, they always talk to each other after practices and games anyway, but now they're scrambling to get Patrick's hands off of Johnny - off of _himself_ \- because of course Patrick's the bad guy here. But whatever, it's Johnny to them anyway, so. "You're such a fucking asshole about this whole thing," Patrick says, elbowing the hands off of him and goes back to his own stall.

"What the fuck is going on with you two?" someone's saying, Patrick doesn't care who. He changes as fast as possible and walks the way to Q.

And just his luck, Johnny's right about the talk with Q. He hands a couple of tasks for Patrick to do, tells him to take notes, and that's about it. Patrick hates when Johnny's right sometimes.

Johnny's waiting for him when he walks out of the Icehouse, staring at Patrick like a creep and leaning on the car. He doesn't say a word, just gestures at Patrick to get in after he helps him get his bag in the back, and Patrick does.

It's a long moment with Patrick glaring out the window and the radio being the only source of sound, disrupting the slow build of awkward silence, when Johnny blurts - "Sorry."

Patrick turns to him and stares until Johnny frowns with Patrick's face, side-glancing at him like, what? Patrick hates how stupid Johnny is sometimes, and how he's an asshole, but at the end of the day, he's someone who's changed Patrick's life and someone Patrick truly cares about.

Which is why Patrick turns back to the window and says: "Fuck you."

"I'm sorry," Johnny tries again, voice more persistent. He turns the radio off. "Really, I just. I guess I'm still in disbelief about all of this."

"Right," Patrick laughs drily. "And what? You don't think I am? I'm trying to deal with this as best as I can, too, while you're over here, fucking blaming at me and getting angry and not fucking _talking_!"

Johnny opens his mouth to say something back, but Patrick guesses he's at a loss of words, because he quickly closes his mouth. The awkwardness is setting in this time now, without the background noise help from the radio, but Patrick doesn't care. He sits at his side of the car, stubbornly quiet, and glares out the window.

"I'm really sorry," Johnny finally says.

"Apology not accepted," Patrick says, trying to sound stern but it falters a little. He waits for a couple seconds, and then some more, just to be stubborn, and adds: "Yet."

Patrick's not turned to Johnny, but he knows Johnny's biting the twitch of a smile.

+

On Saturday, Johnny picks him up to hang out. Patrick looks at him skeptically. "I said apology not accepted _yet_ , asshole, what part of that did you not understand?"

Johnny looks sheepish and half-awkward, which really means it's Patrick looking guilty to himself and it's weird. "Let's go eat," Johnny says, though, and Patrick shrugs and nods. "I miss my bed," he says a moment later, and Patrick rolls his eyes.

"I do, too, so hopefully we'll switch back soon."

"Yeah," Johnny says. "I took the meds for you today. Been taking them as you said."

Patrick looks at him. Something about the way he says it catches him off-guard. It's like Johnny had meant to say it to himself, but Johnny's looking back at him right now with a look that Patrick's seen a thousand times, on Johnny's own face before. It's a look that makes Patrick's stomach twist, even now, looking at Johnny when his features are soft.

"Thanks," he mumbles, mostly because he doesn't know what else to say, and he's pretty sure he's feeling weird now. It always somehow happens whenever he's with Johnny.

"No problem," Johnny says. "Thai?"

Patrick nods and goes.

Later, when they get back to Lincoln, Johnny follows Patrick in. Patrick stares at him, incredulous. "Is this you not trusting me with your stuff? Because now I wanna check up on mine, too."

"Shut up," Johnny calls back, and goes in, leaving Patrick to close the door. "I just wanted to grab something." He goes into his room and stops. Patrick stops right behind him, bumping into him. Johnny asks, "have you been sleeping in my bed?" and Patrick thinks about lying for a second.

He doesn't, though, because it's not - it's not that weird. Whatever, Patrick will sleep in Johnny's bed while he's in Johnny's body and nobody can stop him. "Yes?"

Johnny looks like he's about to point out that there are five bedrooms in this place, that Patrick could've slept in any other one, it's a fucking mansion - but all he ends up saying is, "huh." For a second, Patrick thinks he might have even been blushing. Which, okay, that's new.

Turns out Johnny has to grab socks, and Patrick just stares at him. He closes his eyes for a second. "You - I. You know what? I'm not even gonna ask."

"Yours aren't soft enough," Johnny counters, actually offended, and Patrick doesn't know what to do with him sometimes. He just lets him, he guesses. He watches Johnny stupidly take a few socks and shove them into one of his eco-friendly bags that he hides behind his dresser, and Patrick won't ask about that either. He just watches and laughs.

+

Their first game is probably when Patrick's pretty much convinced his life is going to end. He hands Q his notes - well, Johnny's notes, really, he'd shoved them at Johnny after practice that day, saying: "if you want me to forgive you for being a dick..." and Johnny complied - that morning, and Q made the decision to put Johnny as a center, no matter the risk, and Patrick could go on the wing.

Patrick's convinced, mostly, because first period in, both he and Johnny fuck up passes on their respective lines, and Patrick doesn't know Johnny's reason but his reason is because _Johnny's legs are too long_. He's not - he's not used to that little bit further away from the center of gravity, because okay, so he might have been _short_ even though he doesn't like admitting it, but it was helpful in order to keep Patrick on his feet and in control. As Johnny, he trips more often, sucks at the face-off because that's usually Johnny's job, and misses a couple of passes because the angle he usually receives it at is obviously at a much different angle than Johnny's body is supposed to receive it at. Either way, it sucks, Patrick sucks, it's annoying and he's getting yelled at by Q for the fifth time in the _first_ fucking period.

Johnny's not doing much better either, basically making the same mistakes Patrick's making, and he's so frustrated he breaks three sticks in twenty minutes. "We have to fucking switch back," Johnny says, loud enough for Patrick but not enough for anyone else, punching at everything in sight on the bench, and Patrick can only agree.

If only they fucking _knew_ how.

They lose 6-4. Their fans are disappointed, unusually quiet, and the arena is dull without the flashing of lights. Patrick walks sullenly back with the rest of the team, trailing in last, and sags his shoulders the whole way to his stall.

"Not gonna say anything, Johnny?" Duncs asks, lightly, and Patrick shakes his head. "You usually always have something to say after games like this."

"Not today I don't," Patrick says, and waits until Q walks in to give them more shit.

Except, of course, Johnny stands up like he's suddenly forgotten that hey, he's in Patrick's _body_ for crying out loud, and if he makes captain-ly speeches that sound nothing like Patrick, they're basically done for. And, as expected, Johnny does exactly that.

"Listen up," he starts, and everyone turns, mostly surprised. Johnny's making Patrick have this glint in his eye, and Patrick didn't know it was possible to do it in someone else's body other than, well, Johnny's own body. "It's still early in the season, boys. We fucked up today, especially myself, but let's remind ourselves that there's space to change. There's space to improve. There's space to _be better_. Don't fucking spend time doubting yourself on what you can or can't do. Just go out there and _do_ it."

Hoss is the first to shout, probably to liven up the room a little, and Sharpy joins in right after. Patrick should probably say something too, he's in Johnny's body, _he's_ captain now, really, but - he just can't bring himself to say anything. He flashes Johnny a smile and thankfully, Johnny catches it and smiles right back.

"Let's fucking light it up next time, boys," Bicks yells, and everyone laughs and cheers.

+

A couple of nights later, Patrick's sitting in Johnny's room with his head down. It's been two weeks and they're - nothing is looking up and nothing is getting better. Practice is tense, Q is tense, the whole team is slowly crumbling, and it might only be December, but the season's picking up already and this beginning is not anything Patrick had thought of having.

This - the whole switching thing, although yeah, self-explanatory is the reason for their downfall, it's something that's affecting Patrick in a different aspect too. For one, even though he's damn convinced he absolutely does _not_ have magic fists, something is still itching at the back of his mind every time the feeling is missing: the feeling he would get with Johnny and, well, fists. He thinks, it's normal now that he doesn't, but the back of his head keeps nudging, itching, saying things like, hey Kaner, maybe call your family about it, or a doctor, dumbass. But Patrick shakes away the thought and concludes with, no, I don't have magic fists that allowed me to switch bodies with my best friend because that would be the exact explanation he would've said to his doctor, anyway. And it wouldn't have ended well. Ever.

"Fuck," Patrick mutters, climbing into Johnny's bed. He's frustrated and angry and so _tense_ , and he usually relieves stress by, well - "Oh, God, _no_ , Kaner," he shakes his head. He's definitely, _definitely_ not going to jerk himself off in _Johnny's body_ , what the fuck is he thinking? That would just be indirectly, except _totally_ , a-fucking-hundred-percent directly, giving Johnny a handjob. Which, just, _no_. "That's so wrong," Patrick mouths to himself, squeezes his eyes shut and throws the covers over his head.

Only, great, that just made it worse because Johnny's sheets smell like _Johnny_ , and Patrick - Patrick's a sucker for good smells. Not exactly _Johnny's_ cologne, or his shampoo, or his body wash or _whatever_ , but. The point is, Patrick's a sucker for things that smell good _in general_ , and things that smell good make him hard.

He thinks of getting drunk for this to make it a little less weird that he's unintentionally-intentionally going to jerk Johnny's dick off, but he's not in his own body and he doesn't want to fuck up Johnny's liver or whatever. So.

Fuck it, he thinks, making a final decision by pulling down Johnny's shorts and grabbing his dick. For a moment, he's stuck on whether he's trying to grip Johnny's dick at the base and think of sick things to make him go soft - pathetic that smelling Johnny's goddamn sheets made him hard, what the actual fuck - or if he's really going to do this. Suddenly his hand moves on its own, and oh, okay, apparently the latter.

And - great, so. Patrick might have seen Johnny's dick a hundred times in his lifetime before, not, like, intentionally, but he's subconsciously stared at it in the locker room when he's zoned out sometimes, but that's totally out of his control and not his fault. He's also - by now, anyway - touched Johnny's dick a few times, first by accident and then not-by-accident when they switched bodies and all, Patrick's not gonna make himself remember the first-shower-experience, but - just. 

Johnny's dick is big when it's hard. Patrick's not going to like, gush about it while he strokes it, because he's trying his damn best to think of it as his own, but like all things about Johnny's body, his dick is fucking _big_. And uncut, great, Patrick totally needed to know that information, and fuck, super _sensitive_.

He tries to not think about how fucked up it is, _this_ is, stroking Johnny's dick and hearing himself moan and grunt in Johnny's voice, and instead focuses on thinking about his own dick, and stuff that would make _his_ dick, not Johnny's, turned on.

His thumb brushes the top, accidentally rubbing and catching underneath skin, fucking uncut skin, and Patrick straight out groans. It's half dry and half wet, his palm is causing friction but his fingers are slippery, and he's just - he can't stop now, he thinks, no matter how weird this is, how violating, how _sick_ , Patrick keeps going.

He thinks about what it'd be like to watch Johnny do this to himself, when they switch back maybe, watch the way Johnny does it, the way he likes, while Patrick watches him let loose. Thinks about what it'd be like to suck Johnny off maybe, if Johnny would make Patrick take it, or if he'd let Patrick go to town and go as slow as he wanted. Thinks about what it'd be like to let Johnny fuck him, if Johnny would even fit; thinks about fucking Johnny; thinks about riding Johnny or having Johnny ride _him_ while he weighs Patrick down.

He comes with a muffled moan, his eyes shut, and for a moment, he doesn't care about the wetness spreading through his hand or the fact that he just came from thinking about having sex with Johnny. He's just tired, and finally not tense for once, and the moment stretches until Patrick eventually falls asleep.

+

He wakes up with his hand semi-stuck to Johnny's dick. It's disgusting, disturbing, and oh-fucking-God, Patrick swears he's sorry, Jesus, he really is and he won't jerk Johnny's dick off again while he's still in his body.

It takes him half a minute once he detaches his hand from said dick, to realize that the ringtone of what sounds like whales mating in the ocean - who even uses those sounds as a ringtone, fucking Christ - is Johnny's phone ringing. The caller-ID shows it's Kaner, which means it's Johnny, because the last time they forgot to switch phones was a frightening thing, and Patrick had just jerked Johnny's dick off last night how the fuck is going to talk to him. He presses answer and waits for his life to end.

"Hello?"

"Hey - " Johnny says, then stops. "Why are you out of breath?"

"Running," Patrick says quickly. He is so fucking embarrassed, holy God. "I was - I got up early to run. You know. Knowing how much you torture yourself on day offs and all, so."

"Oh," Johnny says dumbly. "That's, uh, good. Thanks. How did you figure out how to work the treadmill though? Took me ages after I bought it and I spent an hour reading the manual."

Patrick runs to the bathroom and holds his hand under the tap until it's numb. "I'm smarter than you, obviously."

"Obviously," Johnny parrots, mocking. "Are you running the tap?"

"I'm sweating a lot, okay, quit questioning me. I'm over here, working out your body for you, keeping you active and healthy, and you're questioning me." He feels like a dick, no, he _is_ a dick, but - okay, no, Patrick is not going to think of dicks at a time like this. "What are _you_ doing? Actually, why are you calling?"

It takes Johnny a long time to answer. Patrick has to glance at his phone to see if he had hung up or not. "Right," Johnny finally says, voice tight. "I just wanted to ask you, uh, permission for something."

"What," Patrick rolls his eyes. Johnny's so Canadian sometimes, he's probably asking permission for - "like, permission to dry clean my clothes because you're such a nice Canadian boy who helps terribly unkempt Americans like me?"

"Shut up," Johnny says, probably rolling his eyes. "No, I meant, like... Kaner, I woke up and you have morning wood."

Patrick nearly drops his phone. He takes his hand from the sink, stares at it in horror, repeats Johnny's words into his head, and closes his eyes. "You're asking me permission to jerk off?"

"To jerk off your dick, yeah." It shouldn't sound that casual but, surprise. Apparently Johnny can pull off that tone really well. "If you say no I'm just going to think of losing the Cup to your hometown and seeing Gionta with the ring - "

"Okay," Patrick says, cutting in quickly. He's definitely fine with Buffalo winning the Cup, but Gionta with the ring is not an image he'd like to see ever in his lifetime. "Okay, yeah, sure. You can - just do whatever." _With my dick_ , he doesn't say, because it'll just make this conversation weirder, but no, this is good. Johnny can jerk Patrick's dick off and they'll be even. Except, not totally, because Patrick feels like an asshole - Johnny fucking _called_ him and asked for _permission_ , while Patrick just - went with it and rolled with the dices.

"Okay," Johnny says, slow, and then announces that he's going to hang up. "We'll forget this ever happened," he says, rushed, and hangs up.

So - okay, whatever. Two guys who switched bodies and now have jerked each other's dick off is a situation that isn't in any comedy film to date, but Patrick thinks it's definitely, totally normal. Everything's totally fine. Everything's going to be fine.

+

Practice goes surprisingly well the day after the whole incident with jerking-off-my-best-friend's-dick, which Patrick isn't even going to complicate with by thinking that maybe it's something that somehow makes them better, because it's never going to happen again.

Johnny's extremely silent around him, not even offering him a ride or asking for a ride to the rink, and in the locker room or on the ice doing drills, he's looking away and conversing with anyone other than Patrick. Which, Patrick is okay with that, he can deal, it's not like he's dying to talk to Johnny either after he _also_ jerked Johnny's dick off the same day. And Patrick's trying hard to forget about the thoughts he had while doing it, because it was totally weird to think about having sex with Johnny. He doesn't think about how great it might be, or how much he might want it, because it's not - he's just not. Going to think about it. Ever again.

Patrick has to admit he's had mixed feelings about Johnny ever since three years ago, feelings that could be associated with like, being _attracted_ to someone, or maybe even liking them, but definitely not something like being in love or anything. He's just, Johnny's kind of that guy he looked up to, all these years, played with and won championships with through the years, someone he respects and someone he cares and cherishes. Johnny's important in the way hockey's important, not in the objective way though, but the feeling is there. Patrick's passionate about a lot of things in life, but there's only two he's _really_ dedicated to, and that's hockey and his teammates - namely Johnny.

The mixed feelings are coupled in the same category as the pressure Patrick feels with Johnny and fist bumping. It sounds stupid, but there's always something twisting Patrick's gut when Johnny does something particular. He writes it off in his head as being endeared, maybe, possibly, because Patrick's endeared and fond of basically anything, but with Johnny it's a little different and more intense too. Patrick knows by now it's not really normal, but it's something he writes off and doesn't think too much about.

But, whatever, Patrick's not going to let his mixed-feelings-for-Johnny get to him now, just like how he's not going to let the whole jerking off thing get to him. And once they switch back, they'll both go back to living their lives and fight about the smallest of things but still be best friends and everything will be okay.

" - Johnny? Johnny," Seabs is waving a hand at him, poking at his leg, and Patrick pushes him away. "Oh, finally. Man, I thought you were half-dead for a second. You've been staring at your skates forever, what's up?"

"Nothing," Patrick grumbles.

Seabs rolls his eyes. "You've been off since last week, what's up with you? Sharpy's been worried too, you know. You and Kaner - first you guys were fighting and then now you guys are not even talking."

"I don't wanna talk about it," Patrick sighs. "Can we not talk about it?"

Seabs doesn't answer right away. He looks at Patrick a little calculatingly, squinting, and then he says, "uh, sure, we won't talk about it. Just, make up with him already. You're always at your worst state when you fight with Kaner and with the team struggling now, this isn't helping, you know? You're captain, Johnny, I know you're strong. Hopefully whatever Kaner did to make you mad, or whatever you did, maybe, hopefully you'll find it in yourself to move on and forget about it, because we need you both cooperating and on good terms with each other at a time like this."

Something clicks in Patrick's mind and he snaps his head up to look at Seabs. "Wait," he blinks, "J- I'm at my worst state when I fight with Kaner?"

Seabs stares at him blankly. "Right. I don't know if I should be surprised that you're asking _me_ that question, or if I should be surprised that that was the most important thing in everything I just said to you." He waits for a beat for Patrick to reply, but Patrick just shrugs and keeps looking at him expectingly, so Seabs sighs. "Yes, Johnny, you're a fucking wreck when you fight with Kaner."

"Like, what - emotionally?"

"What - " Seabs holds a hand up to stop Patrick. "I don't fucking know, Johnny. You should be asking yourself this."

Patrick freezes and scrambles for an excuse. "Well, I mean, I - I didn't think it was as bad as you say it is. So... how bad does it seem to you?"

Thankfully, Seabs falls for it and keeps going. "Well, don't take my word, but yeah, I guess emotionally. Sometimes you start blaming yourself, depending on what you guys are fighting about, and when Kaner ignores you sometimes, you get all pissy at everyone. It's just, sometimes I wonder if - "

"If?"

"Like," Seabs licks his lips, laughs nervously. "I mean, it's not my place to say this, but. Maybe you can't stand to have Kaner mad at you because, you know, you care about him so much. Like, a scary amount, man."

Patrick lets that sink in. Tries not to overthink what Seabs really means, what he's really trying to say. He looks up at the ice and finds Johnny, skating hard and shooting exactly like he does except - except in Patrick's body, and Patrick just stares at him, first confused, and then completely speechless.

It takes him a long time to finally choke out - "So, like, you think I might have feelings for him? For - Kaner?"

"' _Feelings_ '," Seabs snorts. "What are we - grade nine? No, Johnny, I meant that I think you might be fucking in love with him or something, except you're either too stubborn or too stupid to realize it. Or both." Then he laughs to himself, mostly in disbelief and then in amusement, and pats Patrick's knee before climbing off the bench to hit the ice. "Anyways, good talk, Tazer."

Patrick watches as he goes, still frozen in place from disbelief because Johnny? In love with him? Like - like that could ever be a _thing_ , what the hell. Patrick hangs his head down and stares at his skates some more until Q screams at him to get back on the ice.

+

He follows Johnny all the way out the locker room, down the hallways, and to his car until Johnny finally turns around.

"What do you want?"

And, for a second, Patrick thinks about reconsidering having this conversation with Johnny, having the hey-so-you're-actually-in-love-with-me? conversation, because Johnny might not be actually ready and Seabs might have actually been joking. Or not, because Seabs doesn't know Patrick's not really himself, he's Johnny for the time being, so surprise, and why would Seabs joke about something like that? So, exactly, Patrick's going to go ahead with this conversation.

He stares at Johnny hard, even though Johnny's not totally meeting his eyes, and says, "we need to talk. About us."

"I thought we weren't going to talk about it," Johnny hisses, darting his eyes around frantically to see if anyone overheard even though there's no one around. "And you - you said it was okay. I thought we were going to forget it ever happened."

It takes Patrick a moment before he realizes Johnny's talking about the whole jerking-off-incident. He grimaces. "What? _No_. I wasn't - I didn't mean let's talk about _that_ , Jesus!"

"Oh," Johnny mumbles, busying himself by getting his bag in the car. It seems weird now, watching Johnny, minus the whole him-being-in-Patrick's-body thing, but watching Johnny put stuff in Patrick's car, driving his car, making it look like he really might as well be Patrick what with the way he's so familiar with Patrick's car and shit now - it's strange because the familiarity makes Patrick kind of comfortable. The fact that they adapt to each other so well and can tend to each other's habits. Johnny asks, "what did you wanna talk about then?" and purposely does not look at Patrick.

Patrick has to pause for a moment. Is he really going to tell Johnny this? He knows that Johnny's terrible with admitting his true feelings, but now that he knows that hey, Johnny might actually have feelings for _him_ , and just super shitty at admitting it or whatever, it's a whole different thing. It doesn't help that Patrick also has mixed feelings about Johnny, too. And it definitely doesn't help that they've switched bodies and have now both indirectly jerked each other off. Oh _God_ , right; Patrick's got to remind himself to tell Johnny later that he's not as polite as he is to ask permission to jerk off his dick even though said dick _is_ technically Patrick's for the time being. Not that it makes it any less weird or wrong.

The thing is - Johnny might be in love with him, as Seabs put it, and with their situation right now, Patrick's not sure if this is the right time to blurt it out. But - it's, they'll eventually have to. And if Patrick's not brave enough to do it now, he's never going to be.

"Kaner," Johnny prods.

Fuck it, Patrick thinks, biting his lip.

"I talked to Seabs," he says. He's going to blurt it out. "He said he thinks you're in love with me."

Johnny freezes. Patrick can't tell if time stopped or if Johnny's really just that frozen in place, but apparently the latter because yup, the earth is still moving, the wind is still blowing, and there's Johnny, frozen mid-way of climbing into Patrick's car. It takes him a long time to respond.

"What?"

"Are you?" Patrick presses. He grabs the door so Johnny can't close it even if he wanted to, and Johnny finally, finally looks at him. _Really_ looks at him.

" _What_?" Johnny screeches.

Patrick's not dealing with this. "Are you in love with me or not, asshole?! Please just say you're not and we'll forget this ever happened."

Johnny gets out of the car and grabs Patrick's shoulders. It's funny, because it's Johnny, but in Patrick's body so Patrick's basically asking himself if he's in love with himself and ha, fucking ha. He stares _down_ at himself, at Johnny, and Johnny is making Patrick's face look so confusing. That's Patrick's face, he must have made the same exact face in some point in his life, but he has to admit he doesn't remember if he ever did.

Johnny says, "Kaner," voice stern, and Patrick blinks down at him. "Let's - we won't talk about this now. Not like this, okay? I - we'll talk about it when we switch back."

Patrick feels his stomach tighten at Johnny's words. He clenches his fist without thinking. Johnny's trying to put this off, even though Patrick bravely marched forward and blurted it out because he knew he wouldn't say it otherwise. But here's Johnny, using their situation as an excuse when Patrick took the jump.

This isn't even _Patrick's_ fault; it's not _him_ who's in love with Johnny, it's the other way around. It's not Patrick's feelings. It's not Patrick's problem. Except Johnny is making it feel like it is.

"Switch back," Patrick snorts, properly angry now. "It's been two weeks, Johnny, almost three. Has it occurred to you yet that there might be a chance we won't ever switch back? We don't even fucking know how we switched in the first place, so stop fucking making it sound like we could switch back soon, like it's easy, because maybe we fucking _won't_. We don't know _how_." He shrugs Johnny off of him and glares. "Our bodies might be switched but it's still you and me here. So let's talk about this now. Are you in love with me, Johnny?"

Johnny doesn't reply.

"Right," Patrick laughs. "Are you brave enough to even admit _that_?"

"Kaner - " Johnny starts, but then he cuts himself off. Patrick rolls his eyes.

"You know, you're funny, man. You're so fucking caught up in your own head. It's like everything _you_ think is right, like you think you're making all the effort and I'm giving only twenty-percent. You screamed your head off at me about not trying the unbelievable to switch back, like it's _my_ fault, but now you can't even tell me the truth about your own feelings. And, oh, what if your feelings were what caused this, huh, Johnny? Maybe the fact that you're _apparently in love with me_ is what made us change in the first place! You keep talking about how it's my magic goddamn fists, but let me tell you something, Johnny. Maybe the problem here isn't me," he jabs Johnny hard in the chest. "Maybe it's _you_."

Johnny's opening his mouth again to say something, but Patrick's not having any of it, not now. Not after Johnny just strayed away from the conversation again by saying _after we switch back, after we switch back_ , not after looking like he doesn't even know what to say, because it's just - it's _too much_. Patrick's had enough for now, for today, for this week, maybe. He just doesn't want to deal with this, with Johnny, with anything.

Whether Johnny is in love with him or not, it doesn't fucking matter to Patrick, because Patrick's sure as hell not in love with him.

+

He deserved it, Patrick thinks, glaring at Johnny's dick in the shower. Fuck Johnny, maybe Patrick was supposed to feel guilty for jerking off Johnny's dick without asking first, but Johnny's an asshole, so why should Patrick care about it? Something at the back of his head reminds him that he's still in Johnny's body, that Johnny has a right to his own body whether or not they've switched, but Patrick just can't bring himself to care at this point. All he cares about is the fact that he'll never touch Johnny's dick again anyway, either in Johnny's body or back in his own, and Patrick is so frustrated with Johnny he can't even breathe properly.

The thing about it that's pissing off Patrick isn't so much to do with the fact that Johnny's in love with him and that it's sudden, weird, and Patrick doesn't know what to feel - but more to do with the fact that Johnny _always_ does this. Johnny always avoids from answering the truth, from admitting, always denying his true feelings and it drives Patrick absolutely insane.

But he thinks about it some more, and through the frustration, it dawns on him again that Johnny really is most likely in love with him. Like, _in love_ _with him_ , in love with him. It takes him another second to realize that Johnny didn't know himself, that Johnny was probably confused with it as much as Patrick is now, in Johnny's body, and then another second to realize that -

Okay, he won't go there yet, not now. For now, he'll do anything possible in his power to switch back, and once they do - and he really fucking hopes they will soon - then, _then_ they'll figure this out. Whatever it is.

Johnny texts him a couple times, saying sorry and something else Patrick doesn't bother reading.

For the first night since they switched, Patrick sleeps in a guest room.

+

"I'm sorry," Johnny says the next morning at his door. He's got Subway under his arm, looking wrecked, and it just makes Patrick a little angrier.

"Did you sleep last night?" Patrick hopes Johnny realizes that he's still in Patrick's body and Patrick's taking care of Johnny's body, no matter how angry he is, so he hopes Johnny is as well. "My face looks like shit."

"I - " Johnny stops, closes his eyes. He pushes Patrick a little so he can get inside. "I did. Just not that well. Look, Pat, I'm sorry, we'll - I just - "

He's scared, probably. Patrick stares as Johnny leans against the counter, head down, silent. "You're an asshole," Patrick says.

"I am," Johnny agrees quickly. "I _have_ been. Since - since this whole thing happened, and I'm sorry. Fuck, Pat, I want to be helpful. I'm supposed to - I feel like this is my responsibility. I'm the captain, too, and you're - I'm supposed to make sure you're fine. And I haven't been. And I'm sorry."

Patrick waits a long time. He doesn't say anything. Johnny's still not looking up and he hasn't mentioned about the conversation about being in love with Patrick, so Patrick guesses he doesn't want to talk about it. It's something he doesn't want to talk about either, but they're going to have to, and Patrick - Patrick doesn't know how to tell him. Does he even like Johnny back that way? Should he tell Johnny how he feels sometimes when he's around him, or should he just let this go and hope that it disappears along with Johnny's feelings for him?

"And," Johnny starts suddenly, as if he read Patrick's mind. "About me being in love with you, it's - I don't know how to give you an answer for that. I don't know about anything sometimes, Kaner. Sometimes, I'm really fucking unreliable as captain. As your teammate. As your _friend_."

"Alright, so don't," Patrick cuts in. "Don't give me an answer yet, I don't care. But don't blame yourself, and don't blame me. It's no one's fault, okay? It's just - I'm frustrated. You need to fucking open up about these things. It's so hard to talk to you sometimes."

"I know," Johnny laughs solemnly. He looks so out of it that Patrick's stomach twists in knots. "I know, and I'm really sorry."

Patrick walks up to him and pulls him in. Johnny goes. It's kind of weird to hug himself, Patrick thinks, but for now it's fine. "Hey, it's fine. We'll figure this out, man. We'll be okay. We always are."

Johnny nods and they stay like that for a while, against the counter, Johnny's lame-way-of-apologizing Subway sandwiches pushed aside.

They spend their whole second day-off doing nothing but just hanging out like normal. It feels like the first in a while that they don't feel tense around each other since they switched. Patrick's missed this, he realizes. They go through a couple episodes of Friends and then they try to marathon The Hunger Games because Johnny hasn't seen it and Patrick has Netflix.

"You don't?" Patrick says accusingly, his face twisted. Who doesn't have Netflix nowadays. How do they even watch anything? It's a fucking miracle and Johnny should be thankful he has Patrick and now access to Patrick's Netflix account.

Johnny complains at one point after they've opted to play NHL 13 instead and he's losing, saying how they should probably practice on refining their play since they don't know when they'll switch back. Patrick ignores him and scores again.

They grab pizza for dinner, which is surprising, because they have a game tomorrow and Johnny usually isn't this lenient. Apparently tonight he is, as Patrick happily digs into his third slice, watching Boston face off NYI, and Johnny's still groaning about some play that should've been penalized. Patrick rolls his eyes at how frustrated Johnny is.

Johnny stays until it's night time, and Patrick's sleepy as fuck. There's practice tomorrow and then the game against Minnesota, and Patrick stares at Johnny wearily. "Are you gonna go home? I'm gonna pass out soon."

"It's nine," Johnny comments. "You sleep at nine now?"

"Fuck off," Patrick whines. "Are you getting out or not?"

Johnny thinks about it. He looks tired too, Patrick realizes, and suddenly, he wants Johnny to stay here. He wants Johnny to stay over, to have him here when he wakes up. A part of him thinks it's because he doesn't want Johnny yelling in his ear to wake him up tomorrow morning for practice, but the other part thinks it's just because - well, because.

Johnny says, "I think I wanna sleep in my bed tonight," and Patrick just snorts but also semi-cheers in his head for winning. At what he doesn't know for sure, but Johnny's gonna stay the night and that's - good.

"I wanna sleep in your bed, though," Patrick says. "Your bed is comfier and shit. I know, I tried sleeping in the other room last night. My back hurt when I woke up."

Johnny rolls his eyes.

They end up both getting in Johnny's bed; it should be weird, but Patrick doesn't think too much about it. He's too tired for it. Johnny pulls his socks on and then shuffles inside the sheets beside him and suddenly all Patrick feels like doing is -

"Magical fists," he announces randomly, turning over, and Johnny just stares at him and his outstretched fist.

"Uh," Johnny says, frowning. "What?"

"Fist bump, man." Patrick holds out his fist further, his mind compelling him to do so, his whole body relaxed and languid. Johnny's wearing, well, one of his own shirts, but it's actually Patrick's body, so it's kind of big on him. He doesn't know why he likes the view of him wearing Johnny's clothes; he just does. For the meantime, though, he knocks his fist against Johnny and urges him again. "Come on, Jon."

Johnny laughs, quietly and subdued, contained, and then meets their knuckles together.

+

Patrick wakes up the next morning groggy, his head hurting, his shoulders tight. Someone's mashed into the sheets next to him, and he doesn't remember what happened. It's like he's hungover, but he swears he didn't drink a sip of alcohol last night. "Johnny, wake up," he calls - and then stops.

Johnny groans underneath the sheets. His head is peeking out, hair brown and messy, and Patrick freezes. He shoves the sheets off and stare at his feet - he's wearing Johnny's socks. He's wearing _socks_. Jesus, he doesn't think he's ever been this happy to see that he's _wearing Johnny's socks_ \- 

"Johnny," he's grinning, shaking Johnny awake. "Jon, fuck, wake up, we're back, we're _back_!"

Johnny groans and pushes back, mumbling something inaudible and Patrick just keeps shaking him. "I swear to fucking God, Kaner," he starts, and then immediately opens his eyes. He sits up in an instant, first looking at Patrick and then at himself. "Shit," he says with meaning. " _Shit_."

"We're back, baby!" Patrick screams, ecstatic, and jumps up on the bed. "I'm me! I'm me!"

Johnny grabs at him, hand catching onto his leg, and Patrick has to steady himself so he doesn't fall off the bed. "Stop," Johnny says, still sounding a little too grumpy for this great morning. He sits up, rubs his head. "Fuck, what happened?"

"No clue," Patrick says. He crouches back down on the bed. "Your head hurt? Mine did, too."

Johnny sits there cradling his head for a couple more moments before he starts with, "how - " then, "why - " then groans. Patrick stares at him impatiently, hoping that he can send Johnny telepathic messages of _spit it out, asshole_. Thankfully, Johnny does. "How did we switch back?

"Does it matter?" Patrick cries incredulously. "We're back, man!"

Johnny massages his head for a few more minutes before he stills completely, looking up at Patrick slowly, his face dawning realization. "Fuck," he breathes. "Shit, Patrick, _fuck_ \- "

"What?" Patrick's a little worried now. Maybe they _didn't_ switch back. Maybe Patrick got his own body back, but somehow someone else got involved, and _Johnny_ switched with someone else, and now Patrick's actually not talking to Johnny but to - "What?! Jesus, you're scaring me!"

But Johnny opens his mouth and hisses, "Kaner, _your fists_ ," and Patrick knows it's him. Another beat later, Johnny scrambles and reaches out to grab Patrick's hands. "Don't you get it?"

Patrick snatches his hands back defensively. "No."

Johnny closes his eyes for a moment. "Kaner. The night we switched, you remember it? We tried fist bumping." Patrick blinks at him. Johnny continues, aggravated. "Then last night. You - before we fell asleep, do you remember what you said?"

Patrick stills. "' _Magical fists_ '," he recites, sucking in a breath. "' _Let's fist bump, man_ ' - shit, I _did_ say that."

"You did," Johnny nods.

"Oh fuck," Patrick grabs at Johnny, and then immediately lets go and stares at his hands in horror. "The league, man. Johnny, the _league_. Everyone - _shit_. Everyone always said I had goddamn magic hands, who fucking knew it was true?"

"Or that magic hands meant _this_ kind of fucked up magic," Johnny snorts. Patrick glares at him.

"I'm sorry I didn't get to choose what kind of magic my hands do when I was a baby, asshole." Patrick wants to cry. Or throw up. Or both. "What the fuck. What the _fuck_."

"So you could probably do that with someone else too, then, right?" Johnny says, sounding a little reluctant to ask, and Patrick throws him a look. "The whole - switching bodies. You could probably do it with anyone, Kaner. That's - that's fucked."

"I - " Patrick starts, then stops. "Could I? I don't know." He doesn't know why, but the next moment he thinks of the All Star Competitions; Patrick's pretty giving when it comes to high fives and fist bumps, and throw him in an event like the All Star Game meant he was bound to give at least a hundred high fives and fist bumps each day and night. But through the years, nothing's ever happened. He's given gloved fist bumps and skin-on-skin fist bumps and nada. Nothing. Nothing happened. If anything _had_ , he'd have known. He's pretty sure the person he'd mostly switch bodies back and forth with and back again would have had to be Segs. No doubt, Patrick shivers.

"Get it checked," Johnny says next. He's climbing out of bed as he says it, face turned, and Patrick watches the line of his back and the tension at his neck as he goes. "For now, it's good that we're back."

"Yeah," Patrick mumbles. He stares hard at his knuckles, transfixed. "We're back to normal, at least."

Johnny's mood doesn't get better during practice, though. It was hard enough to get through the morning with him, and although Patrick was spared having an awkward car ride with him since Johnny drove his car over the other day, he'd have rather gone through _that_ than have his and Johnny's passes not line up correctly even though they're back to being them again. It's frustrating. It's like nothing even changed. They're still switched. They're still not okay.

It's not good. There's a game today, it's supposed to work out perfectly now that they're back in their own bodies, not the other way around. But somehow Patrick feels even more conflicted than he was when they _were_ switched.

Johnny only talks to him when they're leaving the arena, and Patrick's legs are automatically heading over to Johnny's parked car when Johnny stops him. "We're back, remember?"

"Right," Patrick nods curtly. "I knew that. My car is that way."

"Kaner," Johnny calls. Patrick stops and turns back. Johnny bites his lip, hesitant apparently, before he says - "Get it checked out."

Patrick doesn't know why Johnny saying that annoys him, but it does. He says, "fuck you, I will," and turns on his heel to walk to his car.

But when he finally gets home and back onto his own bed for the first time in weeks, he doesn't call his doctor. He doesn't call his team medic, either. He calls his mom.

"Mom," he whines when she picks up, "was I supposed to be a witch?"

"...What?"

Suddenly, Patrick feels as if this is the kind of conversation he should have in person rather than over the phone. He stares at his free hand for a moment, before he sighs. "Never mind. Just calling to say I love you, and I haven't gone crazy yet - "

" - I'm seriously questioning _that_ at the moment," his mom interjects.

" - I _haven't_ ," Patrick stresses. "See you soon. Love you."

"Alright, whatever you say," his mom laughs. "Love you, too. Good luck tonight, baby."

"Thanks, mom," Patrick mumbles against his knuckles, his mind clouded, and hangs up.

Well, he's going to have to approach this more carefully. Do witches even exist? But if Patrick has actual magic fists that allow him to switch bodies with people - read: Johnny - then he guesses the existence of witches wouldn't be the craziest thing he's heard. In fact, that seems really fucking plausible. At least, more plausible than magical fists, what the fuck kind of a superpower is that?

He thinks about his fists and how he's supposed to break this news to his mom and the rest of his family all the way until it's time to head back to the rink for their game tonight.

"Okay," Shawzy starts, arms crossed and standing in front of Patrick's stall accusingly. "Spit it. What's up with you lately?"

Patrick pulls on his skates. "What?"

Shawzy glances over at Johnny and then back. "You and Tazer are being weird. Why are you guys being weird, and why aren't you guys telling us?"

"We're not being weird," Patrick says, looping his laces. "Go bother Tazer."

Shawzy huffs, but does. Thank God, Patrick thinks. He's already got too much on his hands - literally. He wants to punch his knuckles into a wall, but then he'd have to sit out for a couple of games probably, depending on how hard he impacts his wrist. He exhales heavily, pulling his other skate on, and tries to untangle the knot building in his stomach. They finally switched back today, literally this morning, and yet it feels like it's been longer. Patrick - by all means, he's fucking glad about it. He's learnt, through the weeks of being in Johnny's awkward longer body, that he took his own body for granted, and that he appreciates his size, no matter how small, thank you very much. But given that, even though last night Johnny and him did _kind of_ make up, it still feels far from it. It still feels like nothing's changed.

"We're fine," Patrick hears Johnny say, his voice sounding the exact opposite, and Shawzy groans.

+

Johnny is still weirdly quiet and seemingly ticked off around Patrick for the days leading up to the Christmas break. They're talking in the locker room and during games obviously, but otherwise, Johnny doesn't even so much as blink in Patrick's direction. Which, okay. Patrick's got too much on his mind to be annoyed about Johnny being an asshole for whatever reason. It's not like Patrick _planned_ to have magical hands that can make you switch bodies with other people if you fist bump them. But - oh, right, apparently it's only when he fist bumps with Johnny. Seriously - if this was the plot for a movie, Patrick would've walked out the theatre before it even started.

Shawzy continues to alternate between bothering him or Johnny, and by the third consecutive night, Johnny stopped doing the weird jumps with Shawzy during practice. Shawzy had pretended to be mad, but he'd looked so much like a kicked puppy that Patrick did it with him instead. He had practice when he was Johnny, anyway.

"Focus, Kaner," Johnny had snapped, like Patrick had done anything. So naturally, Patrick made a face at him but got back on the ice the next drill more focused. Johnny didn't say anything after that, so Patrick ignored him right back.

Deep down, though, he kind of misses Lincoln and Johnny's bed, but he's never going to admit that. 

+

Patrick heads home during Christmas break, and he's determined to confess and to get to the bottom of this whole weird-ass, magical-fists-switching-bodies thing straight with his mom.

Which - he tries. He really, really does.

Patrick's kind of frozen in his place. His mom is moving the conversation along already, and somewhere in the background is his dad in the living room _still_ watching and yelling at the TV, even though Patrick told them both just now that he can _fucking switch bodies when he fist bumps with Johnny_. Thank God his sisters aren't home at the moment to witness this madness. 

"So, can you do it with anyone else?" His mom asks, and Patrick wouldn't even be able to tell if she was asking about the weather. "Or just Johnny?"

"Really," Patrick stares at her, " _that's_ what you're concerned about?! Of all things?!" His voice is starting to go higher with each question, and really, just, Patrick is so glad he and Johnny had finally figured out what made them switch in the first place so that he was able to _switch back_ and talk to his mom. But at the same time, it seems like even if it'd been Johnny in Patrick's body, speaking to Patrick's mom, the conversation would've still went the same route. "Mom, do you know what we had to go through just to get here? What _I_ had to go through? Like, a lot. We went through a fuc- we went through a freaking lot. _A freaking lot_!"

"Language," his mom still says, even though Patrick didn't swear, and plus, he's twenty-seven year-old grown-ass man, but that's beside the point because guess what? He's a twenty-seven year-old grown-ass man _who can switch bodies with his teammate by bumping fists with them_. Which Patrick reiterates frantically, but his mom just continues with her random kitchen duties and talks nonchalantly about the weather that is Patrick-switching-bodies-with-Johnny. Basically telling Patrick that, oh, hey, Pat, by the way your life was looking a little cloudy in the past few weeks but it's sunnier now, and that's that.

"Maybe we should have told you earlier," she says, a little after a beat, and Patrick has never turned his neck so fast. Terry and Shane won't be happy about it if Patrick tells. 

"Maybe," Patrick closes his eyes. " _Maybe_?!" He screeches. "Tell me what, mom, please, oh God, just enlighten me. Just do it." 

She rolls his eyes at him and calls for his dad. Patrick's dad comes a little reluctantly, only finally complying when Patrick's mom yells for him a second time. Patrick stares at him when he walks in.

They stare back, and Patrick closes his eyes in exasperation. "Just - go. Just say it."

"Well..." Patrick's mom starts.

"Think of it like a superpower, Pat," his dad says gruffly, confirming all of Patrick's suspicions, denials, and nightmares in just seven words. "Except instead of flying, you can switch bodies with people."

"Only not just anyone," his mom continues. Patrick blinks at her, awaiting impatiently for her next words. "Only with your soulmate. For most people, anyway. The first time is inevitable and you switch back once you've adapted to each other. But after that, you can switch whenever you feel like you need to."

Patrick waits for a beat, and then another. And then another, before he just loses his shit and everything basically goes to hell from there.

"Wait," Patrick says, feeling like he's going to puke or pass out. "Wait. What? _What_?!"

"We've always kind of figured Johnny was your soulmate," his mom continues, like this whole conversation is totally, a-hundred-percent normal. "Have you talked it over with him after you switched back?"

"No, because I was too busy being relieved about switching back into my own body! And also," Patrick sucks in a breath, "what do you mean you always figured Johnny was my soulmate?"

His dad sighs heavily. "Look, I know it's hard to take in, Pat, but it's been passed down for generations. I was going to tell you, but you didn't ask about it yet, and I didn't want to tell you if there was a chance you could avoid it."

"Soulmates," Patrick's mom cuts in, admonishing. "That's not something you encourage your son to _avoid_."

"Passed down from generations?" Patrick echoes, incredulous. He's going to pass out for sure now. "I could've _avoided_ it? Hold on, let me pinch myself awake. This is definitely a dream." He pinches his forearm, then the back of his hand, his cheek, his other forearm, and then his other cheek. Nope, it's not a dream. Great. "Great," Patrick says aloud. "This is just fucking great. Do Jackie and them have this, too? Do they know about it?"

"Yes," his dad says.

"They... knew before me?"

"Well, to be fair, they _were_ home often enough that it was convenient to have the talk with them."

"Oh," Patrick laughs sardonically, "you guys couldn't have given me a phone call or something? How about last Christmas? Or the one before that? How about when we got kicked from the playoffs in 2011? Or the year after? Or, you know, _last year_?"

"Pat - "

"Mom," Patrick interrupts her. "I had this thought, the first day I switched with Johnny. I had this really stupid thought, like, what if I ask the doctors because what if this could be like, a _genetic_ thing? And then immediately after that, I knew I must have been really hungover or it's some kind of side effect from the meds I'm taking for my clavicle, because you know, _maybe_. I thought, like that could _ever_ be possible, and even if it was, you guys would've told me. But you didn't. And it was possible. And that's _exactly_ what it was; a _genetic_ thing."

"We're so sorry, Patrick," his mom says softly. "We meant to tell you, baby, we really did. It just - slipped our minds."

"Slipped your mind. Right." Patrick stares at her blankly. " _This_ slipped your mind. _This_."

His mom gives him an apologetic look. She looks so torn that Patrick feels guilty even through his anger and frustration.

He loves her and he loves his dad, but they should've _told_ him about this, even if it was just a quick, "hey, Pat, your fists can make you switch bodies with your soulmate," Patrick would've appreciated that over nothing. At least he would have been prepared over the weeks of struggling in Johnny's body, or having to put up with Johnny's temper, and Johnny's feelings, and - _Johnny_ in general. At least he would've known right from the get-go why he always gets that pressure feeling in his chest that compels him to give Johnny high-fives instead of fist bumps.

Patrick can feel himself tensing, just remembering that, and he can't believe - _Johnny_ , of all people, is his soulmate? What the actual _fuck_?

"You should've told me," Patrick says, voice hard. When he looks up, his mom still looks heartbroken that he's angry, so Patrick looks back down.

"We should've," his mom agrees. "But you were doing your own thing so young. It was hard to keep up with how fast you were growing up, with how many things you were doing, with your busy schedule. It felt like there wasn't any time for us to watch you grow up at all, because before we knew it, you're twenty-seven and a three-time Stanley Cup champion."

"With the best hands and a top player in the NHL," his dad adds. "Time does slip right from you."

Patrick's quiet for a long time. He rolls his thoughts around in his head and scans his parents' faces, feeling guiltier for lashing out by the minute even though he has every right to be angry at them.

It was hell. Switching bodies with Johnny was fucking shit. It sucked. But he thinks about how hard this could've been for his mom and dad, too, how hard it was to get Patrick to just sit still, for more than twenty minutes, just to talk about this. It's true; he never really had the time to give them that. If it wasn't worrying about practice, or training, or camp, or school, or being drafted, or _playing in the NHL_ \- it was about his own problems and how hard they were. It was about himself.

"I'm sorry - for, uh, shouting," Patrick finally says, quietly. "Okay, so, I can switch bodies? With my... soulmate, or whatever. Great. Uh. Generations, right? And it's passed down, since it's genetic. Okay, I can - I can. Like, live with that."

"Oh, Pat," his mom says softly.

"No, no - it's fine now. This is fine. Should I - um. Do I have to talk to Johnny about this?"

His mom and dad looks at him with empathetic eyes. "You will have to soon," his mom replies. "But when you're ready."

"Okay," Patrick says again. "Sure. I'll do that. Thanks mom, dad."

"Anytime, champ," his dad smiles, subdued. "Are you sure you're okay? We can have a more in-depth version of the talk now, if you want. You can stay overnight, sleep in your old room."

Patrick tells them that no, it's fine, he needs to drop his stuff off, but he loves them both and he'll stay over tomorrow night after the big dinner, and then he gets out of there before he goes into, like, cardiac arrest. He drags his bags on the porch and down the driveway and then drops his keys twice in the snow.

Well. At least, if his soulmate _is_ Johnny, Patrick doesn't have to worry about passing down this shitty magical soulmate-finding fists to his future kids.

He picks up his keys after dropping them a third time, and then calls a cab.

Later, when Patrick's buried in his couch with his bags haphazardly thrown beside him, he thinks _shit_ , isn't Johnny in love with him or something? And now it's confirmed that Johnny's his soulmate, since Patrick can switch bodies with him. And actually, hold on, wait, how does switching bodies have anything to do with finding your true love or your soulmate or whatever?!

He's hysterical. Maybe he _will_ go into cardiac arrest. He's so stressed out he can't even think straight.

This sucks. Totally, a-hundred-percent sucks major balls, and Patrick expresses as such by chucking a cushion on the ground. Soon, all four cushions are a few feet from him on the carpet, unfazed. Patrick makes a face at them for mocking him.

This is crazy. Patrick's crazy. Patrick's _life_ is crazy. Magical fists? A super power to help you find your soulmate? By switching _bodies_ with them? What the actual fuck, seriously. If this was ever a plot for a movie, Patrick would buy the blu-ray version, climb up Empire State, and throw it off the top floor.

How does he even explain this sort of thing to other people? ' _So, apparently my genes give me the ability to switch bodies with my soulmate by bumping fists. Great, huh?_ ' Patrick wants to strangle himself - or maybe his fists. Jesus Christ.

"I'm gonna kill Johnny," he decides out loud. Because this is really all Johnny's fault. If Johnny hadn't been so persistent about why Patrick couldn't fist bump with him, they would've never switched bodies, Patrick would've never found out that he had weird magical soulmate-finding fists, and he could've been in a much better place right now.

Fuck Johnny, Patrick thinks. "Fuck Johnny," he says just to make a point to himself.

Then Patrick's dialling Johnny's number before he even realizes he's doing it. Johnny picks up on the fourth ring.

"I'm gonna kill you," Patrick says.

"What?"

Patrick glares at a wall. "I'm gonna fucking kill you."

"What the hell, Kaner. Are you drunk?"

"Fuck you, am I drunk," Patrick spits. "I'm so fucking pissed at you right now. I'm fucking pissed about my life and about you and I hate that it's related."

Johnny's quiet for a moment and Patrick almost shouts at him for hanging up. But then Johnny says - "What do you mean?" and Patrick has to suck in a huge breath to avoid screaming.

"This should be discussed in person, but I don't think you deserve it. So, here: we switched bodies because we're soulmates. Because my fists _are_ fucking magical. Because it's a fucking genetic thing my parents forgot to tell me about when I was a kid. Because it's something I could've _totally_ avoided if you weren't so goddamn persistent about fist bumping with me. Because you're a fucking asshole, Johnny. So, fuck you. Are you happy now?"

Patrick slides down into his couch and stretches his leg just far enough to stubbornly kick a cushion with his toes. It barely moves at all, the fucker, and Patrick's not sure why he's getting angry at inanimate objects now, but he pictures the cushion as Johnny and stretches further to kick it across the room.

He's so concentrated that he doesn't reply when Johnny spits, "what the _fuck_?" but yeah, Johnny, fuckin' right, what the fuck. " _Shit_ ," Johnny says next, and Patrick feels exactly that. He wants to smash his fists into the wall while also simultaneously scream into them.

"What am I supposed to do," Patrick whines quieter, mostly to himself.

"I fucking knew it," Johnny replies, ever helpful. Patrick's ten seconds away from booking a flight to Winnipeg just to strangle him. "I fucking _knew_ it, Kaner. Who can't bump fists normally? Have you ever heard of something like that? I knew something was fucking wrong with your hands since our first couple seasons together."

Patrick feels his gut churn at Johnny's words. There it is again. Johnny saying something like it's Patrick's fault, like it's Patrick's fault for not knowing, like Patrick was the one who caused this whole thing.

He tunes Johnny out; why did he even call him, anyway? To tell Johnny that there was an actual explanation for why they switched bodies? To tell Johnny that he was right, but he's also an asshole? Right, Patrick snorts to himself, that's why he called Johnny - because he was pissed off at him. But so what? What now? What would _Johnny_ do? It's not like Johnny knew he was Patrick's soulmate, even though he's the one who dragged them into this mess, and Patrick probably could've just shrugged the whole thing off and get married to someone else and never let Johnny know about the truth. It wouldn't have mattered; Johnny wouldn't have cared. Just like now.

Great, Patrick thinks. Now he's made himself feel even more like shit. Here he is, just realizing that his fists have led him to his soulmate without him knowing, without him wanting it, and here's his soulmate blaming him for the entire thing through his phone. Patrick shrinks into the couch and punches his free fist into the couch. It doesn't hurt, obviously, but he wishes it did.

"You're not it," Patrick decides.

"What?"

"You're... you're not it, man. You can't be. Just - forget I told you this. Forget the whole soulmate thing and my fucking fists. Forget this - and I'll forget that Seabs told me how he thought you're in love with me. Because you're not, right? So, let's just pretend nothing happened. This whole thing, us switching, the fists, the soulmates, the feelings - just fuck it all. I mean, it doesn't even matter, right?"

Johnny doesn't answer for a long time.

Patrick lets out a shaky breath; when did he start crying? He angrily wipes the tears forming at his eyes and says, "I'm gonna hang up now. Sorry for calling. Tell your family I said Merry Christmas. I'll see you in a couple days."

"Wait, Kaner - "

"'Night, Johnny."

Patrick hangs up and waits to feel better. He never does.

+

This sucks. Everything sucks.

Patrick glares at his fists when he wakes up the next morning, his eyes feeling heavy and probably swollen. He can't believe he actually fucking cried, what the fuck. He'll admit he's an emotional guy, so it's not that he doesn't usually cry, but it's the fact that he cried over something related to _Johnny_ that ticks him off. Why should he be the one crying?

When he checks his phone, he has missed calls from his sisters, Johnny, and his mom and dad.

Jackie had texted _we heard that u got the talk last night_ in the group chat. Jess asked _how was it???_ and Erica had added _hope you're okay pat. call us whenever!_

Patrick has the best sisters in the world. He scrolls down to Johnny's notifications and there's a text saying _we should talk in person._ Patrick skips it and calls his mom.

"Hey mom, Merry Christmas," he says when she picks up. "I'm coming over in a bit. Tell the girls."

+

"Hi sweetheart, Merry Christmas," his mom greets. "Jackie's upstairs. Jess and Erica will be back in a bit."

"Sweet," Patrick grins. "What's for lunch?"

"Whatever you want, just not the turkey," she smiles, amused. She probably already knows what he's going to suggest.

"Eggnog?"

She laughs. "I'm making it now." Then, a little softer, she asks, "how are you feeling today?"

Patrick tenses just the slightest; the question was the obvious elephant in the room, but he hadn't expected her to actually ask it.

In all honesty, one night of sleep isn't something that can cure magical soulmate-finding fists and all the shock that comes with realizing oh, right, those are _your_ fists. Patrick had hoped it'd work, but nope. It didn't. It did, however, fuck up his clavicle again, a crick going from his shoulder all the way to his neck, because sleeping in a bed that he doesn't even sleep in for three-quarters of a year doesn't do any good for injuries like this.

So - Patrick's feeling pretty fucking terrible, still, to sum up.

"Great," he says instead. "I feel a lot better."

"Pat - "

"Seriously, mom, I'm fine." He brushes past her and heads for the stairs, grinning. "I'm gonna go scare Jackie."

It's only a couple of days that Patrick gets to spend time with his family, but it's a much needed couple of days - and much appreciated, too. Between getting drunk with his sisters, marathoning shitty teen romance shows, and sleeping all huddled in a childhood room, Patrick doesn't think it gets better than this.

"I _knew_ it was Johnny," Jackie gushed, drunkenly. "He is _so_ brooding and the opposite from you but _perfect_ for you, and yup. Totally called it."

"He's not my soulmate," Patrick said. "How would you guys know he's perfect for me? I don't even like him that way. He's a fucking dick. Don't mention his name in front of me."

"Oh my God, Pat, come on," Erica rolled her eyes. "You think we don't know about your feelings for Johnny? We figured it out _years_ ago. You talk about him _all the time_ , so it's pretty obvious. You of all people know Johnny better than anyone. You know he's terrible at expressing his feelings. You know he sometimes acts like he has a stick up his ass but you _also_ know he makes lamest jokes that you can't help but snort at. And you know that, even though he can be a dick and a lame one at that, he's still honest and reliable and the best captain and teammate and friend you could ever ask for."

Patrick raised a brow at her. "I'm pretty sure this is _your_ love confession to him. Why don't _you_ go be his soulmate?"

" _You've_ said all that about Johnny before. Don't you remember? How many times have you said, ' _Johnny's such a great captain_ '? You're _always_ gushing about him, you just don't realize you're doing it."

Jackie giggled. "And how many times have you said, ' _Johnny can't tell jokes for shit_ ,' but then you'll tell us the joke and laugh, for like, ten minutes straight?"

"And don't forget the whole ' _I'm mad at Johnny_ ' in the afternoon, but ' _I'm skyping Johnny_ ' at night," Jess added with a smirk.

"The point is," Erica regrouped, "is that there was no doubt in any of our minds that Johnny was going to be your soulmate. And also, why are you being all pissy and shit about it? Face it, Pat, you love Johnny for the exact same reasons you hate him. In other words, you love him for the way he is."

"No," Patrick glared at her, "I don't. He's an asshole. I don't care if my stupid fucking fists think he's my soulmate, I'm getting the final say: he's _not_."

"Whatever," Erica rolled her eyes again. "You guys are the perfect match. You're both stubborn with your feelings."

+

That conversation he'd had with his drunk sisters is what lingers in Patrick's head when he's on the plane back to Chicago. He frowns the entire time, because no way _in hell_ does he think that positively about Johnny. Sure, he'll admit that Johnny's a great leader and a great player and a good friend, but that's... that's it. That's it. There's nothing else; Johnny's not special. He's not the only one that can be a great leader, player, and friend; Patrick feels the same about all his teammates. Hell, Sharpy beats Johnny any day, and Patrick isn't in love with Sharpy, so how could he possibly be in love with Johnny?

Chicago is dreary when Patrick lands, so Patrick stares at it a little longer, anticipating rain instead of snow.

When he gets back to Trump, he's tempted to jump in the shower and then sleep for twenty hours, but then Johnny calls him and all his plans run out the window.

"Hey," he answers tiredly.

"Hey," Johnny replies. "Are you back?"

Patrick shrugs off his bags and dumps his keys onto the counter. "Yeah."

"Can I come over?"

"Now?" Patrick stares out the window and watches the rain start. "Dude, it's raining."

"Dude, I have a car," Johnny mocks.

"Okay, fine," Patrick groans, rubbing his eyes. "Don't blame me if Q yells at you for getting sick."

Patrick gets into his shower after they hang up, and he's barely struggled on a shirt and some pants before there's a knock at his door.

Johnny's there, on the other side, when Patrick opens up. His hair and his shoes are wet. Patrick raises his brows like, _did you bring an umbrella?_ and Johnny shakes his head and brushes past him to get inside.

"You need a change of clothes?" Patrick offers.

"No," Johnny says. "I'm fine."

"You're gonna get my carpet wet." Johnny shuffles back onto tile. Patrick rolls his eyes. "And my tiles. C'mon, I'll grab you a shirt. You wanna shower?"

Johnny grabs Patrick's wrist before Patrick can turn around.

"Kaner," Johnny says, his voice surprisingly soft.

Patrick stares at him. He tugs on his wrist, but Johnny holds still.

"Johnny - "

And - oh. Patrick freezes. Johnny's kissing him.

Suddenly, everything feels eerily still. All Patrick can focus on is the way Johnny moves against him, warm and soft. Patrick's chest jumps, his breath lodged in his throat, his body numb.

It's strange - Johnny's not for him, Patrick knows this. No matter what his sisters or his parents say, Johnny's not the one. He's just not. He may fit into Patrick's life like he's supposed to be there, like he's meant to be there, but it's only an illusion that everyone, including Patrick, clings onto.

Before coming back to Chicago, and all the way back, Patrick had replayed in his mind over and over again the words of _Johnny is not my soulmate_. Somewhere along the way of getting to the airport, getting on the plane, and sitting for the short hour and a half flight, Patrick's anger had sifted down into disbelief. Not only about the fact that Johnny is apparently his soulmate, or the fact that his fists are _actually_ magical and everything's fucking ridiculous - but the disbelief about the fact that he could ever really think of Johnny as more than a friend, as a person he loves. His sisters say he's stubborn about his feelings, but it isn't that. It isn't. He just... he just doesn't know what it is.

But it's strange, because there's nothing illusive about Johnny kissing him, and it sounds terribly cliche, Patrick knows, really, he does - but it's like time stopped. Time's stopped, and all that matters is that he leans in and hope to _God_ Johnny doesn't let go.

The strangest thing, though, is that Patrick can't shake the feeling of how natural kissing Johnny feels, and how familiar - like he's kissed Johnny a billion times before.

"Fuck," Johnny says when they pull away. Patrick follows the line of his throat when he swallows, still a little stunned. "Kaner, I gotta tell you something."

"Uh, okay," Patrick says.

"I - " Johnny licks his lips and Patrick has to look away. "The whole soulmate thing. I, uh, I knew about it before we switched."

Patrick flinches. The words repeat in his head and he blinks. 

"What?"

"I meant to tell you," Johnny continues, not making any sense at all.

"You meant to tell me what?"

Johnny's quiet for a minute. Patrick stares at him, impatient and confused, trying to will the words out of Johnny through his gaze. His wrist is still in Johnny's hand, Johnny's fingers wrapped loose, his thumb shaking.

"Johnny," Patrick prods.

"I knew," Johnny says quietly. "I knew from the beginning. My parents told me. They were sure that we were soulmates, and they told me that your family has some kind of genetic thing that's passed down to confirm it if you were. So, your hands, Pat - us switching bodies and what you told me over the phone the other night, that proved it."

Patrick's throat goes dry.

Outside, the rain pelts heavily down on the windows, echoing loudly throughout the entire room. It drowns out the sound of blood pounding in Patrick's ears, the sound of Patrick's forced laugh. For a moment, everything is muted except for the endless cry of the storm drumming against glass.

Patrick tugs at his hand and this time, Johnny lets go. It feels strangely symbolic. Patrick was never poetic, but he can't help it now. He crumples his hands together on the counter, shuddering from numbness and weakness and - and -

"What," he snorts. "Is this some sort of joke? _Was_ it some sort of joke?"

"Kaner - "

"Don't, man," Patrick cuts in sharply but his voice quavers. "Just - don't. Don't do that."

Johnny doesn't reply.

Patrick looks at him. Really looks at him. He looks at the way Johnny's face screams apologetic for the - whatever, millionth - time, watches it contort into guilt and then pity. Great, Patrick thinks, that's the one. Pity.

Of all the things he's recently figured out, this - Johnny standing here in front of him, after Patrick had finally pieced together what the hell was happening in his life, and telling Patrick _that_ after he'd just kissed him - _this_ is what really throws Patrick off.

Johnny knew, the whole time. And two, three days ago, there was Patrick, thinking that no matter how shitty his life suddenly had gotten, he knew one thing for sure, and that was that Johnny definitely couldn't have known about any of this and not have said anything, if Patrick never told him. Patrick realizes, now, that he was wrong, because surprise - Johnny did know. He knew the whole fucking time. And here he is, pitying Patrick.

"What do you want from me, Johnny?" Patrick says; it comes out a lot more subdued than he intended. "What are you trying to confirm? What are you trying to prove? Am I - what am I to you?" He squeezes his hands together on the counter, hoping that'll stop them from shaking. "How about that kiss just now? How about you being in love with me? Was Seabs in on the joke? Am I a fucking joke to you or something?"

"What - _no_ , Patrick, you're not a fucking joke to me, what the fuck - "

"Then what, Johnny? You kept pestering me about not fist bumping with you, you kept blaming me when we switched, you kept making it seem like everything in the fucking world was my fault because you knew, didn't you? You knew that I had something that could prove whatever it was that you wanted to prove. Great, now you did. You've got your confirmation. What's your reason for everything else? Like you not being able to admit you're in love with me, but you kissing me just now. What's your purpose for that? You need to confirm something else? Like, I don't know, maybe if you're gay or not?" Patrick snorts. " _Fuck you_ , Johnny. Get out of my fucking house."

"Kaner, just let me explain," Johnny pleads.

"Get out," Patrick says again, his voice hard although his hands are shaking even more now. "Just get the fuck out, man. Get struck by lightning or something, I don't care, just - fuck off, Johnny."

"I _am_ in love with you," Johnny blurts, louder than he'd intended, but it doesn't matter now. It cuts through the sound of the rain, and probably even a few doors over, but it's enough. "I _am_ fucking in love with you, don't you get it?"

"Shut the fuck _up_ ," Patrick snaps. "You're in love with me? _Now_? Now you are? Now you can admit it? Fuck you, man."

Johnny's silent. Patrick clenches his jaw.

"Here, while were on the topic of confessing shit, I'll tell you something you should know: that morning you called me asking if you could jerk my dick off? Well, you didn't fucking have to, because I already jerked yours off the night before, without even asking. _That's_ how much I don't give a shit about you, Johnny. _That's_ how much you don't matter. You're in love with me? Why didn't you admit that back then? Why _couldn't_ you? Or were you," Patrick feigns shock with an exaggerated gasp, "feeling guilty for using me to test out if you were actually gay?"

Johnny flinches and has the nerve to look _pitiful_ , now, like Patrick's the one in the wrong again. He looks at Patrick, hurt and defeated. Patrick's not having any of this, not anymore. He's done.

"I don't care if we're soulmates. I don't care if you think I'm your soulmate. I don't care if your parents think we're soulmates. I don't care if my magic fucking _hands_ think you're my soulmate. I'm not in love with you," Patrick says, his jaw tight.

He grabs Johnny by the sleeve and tries to pull him towards the door, but Johnny doesn't budge.

"I wasn't - you weren't," Johnny tries saying one last time, but he doesn't finish his sentence.

Patrick's expression is grim. He clenches his fists and ignores how much he's shaking.

"Get out of my house, Johnny."

Finally, Johnny does.

+

It's the sound of a pot clattering onto the floor that makes Patrick realize that he's crying. It's one in the morning, and he's crying. There's mandatory practice tomorrow morning, and _he's crying_. Jesus Christ.

He's not sure if he'd blacked out on the floor of his kitchen after Johnny left, but it sure feels like it, because he can't remember what happened and he doesn't remember when he started crying. 

He should probably shower again, but when he looks up, he'd walked to his room. It still feels strange to climb into his bed; he thinks of Johnny's bed in Lincoln's and he feels his eyes itch again. Probably not a good idea. He rubs at them and pulls the sheets up over his head. Maybe it'll block the sound of his alarm tomorrow.

Patrick sighs. It won't, but it's worth a try.

+

"Were you crying last night? You were definitely crying last night."

Patrick shoots a glare at Sharpy's direction and bats away his touchy hands, trying to poke at Patrick's swollen eyes. "Stop, man, I mean it."

The locker room is buzzing with the guys' overlapped talking, and Patrick's doing everything he can to avoid where Johnny's stall is, where Johnny could be.

It's the drop in Sharpy's voice that makes Patrick look at him. "Hey, are you okay? I'm here if you need to talk."

"I'm fine, don't worry about it," Patrick says. He tries on a smile. "How was your Christmas?"

Sharpy looks like he's tempted to keep pushing, but he doesn't. "It was good. Abby did her first turkey and Maddy almost climbed on it, so we had to hide it in the oven for a couple of hours."

"' _Hide_ '," Patrick snorts. "Pretty sure you're supposed to do that. It's called roasting."

"Yeah, well, you know. Abby's words."

Patrick shakes his head with a grin. "You guys looked happy, though, in your story. I saw it."

Sharpy smiles. "Yeah. I don't normally play with Snapchat, but Abby insisted. She makes me like doing all the things that I don't like doing."

"Heart eyes, dude. Control them."

"Sue me," Sharpy dares, smirking. "You're the one to talk. How's Johnny?"

Patrick's breath skips and his smile immediately drops. "What about him?"

"How was yours and Johnny's Christmas?"

"Mine was fine, thanks." Patrick bends to shove on a skate. "I don't know about his."

"Jesus," he hears Sharpy laugh in disbelief. "Are you two fighting again? You guys are like Ross and Rachel or something. Can one of you just get off the plane?"

Sharpy jumps a little when Patrick stomps his skate on the floor to get his foot all the way in.

"Don't, man," Patrick says.

Sharpy leaves him alone after that but practice is shit. Johnny's somewhere at the corner of Patrick's eye, almost always seemingly way across the rink from him, like he's trying to avoid him. Patrick scoffs, fuck him, Patrick should be the one avoiding him.

They're not syncing up, either, but of-fucking-course they're not, Patrick thinks. He slaps a pass in Johnny's direction, like he's told, like they've practiced, but it flies right to back boards and bounces off in tune with Q's angry whistle, screaming at him to get his shit together.

Johnny's not yelling at him, but he's red-faced and exhausted, skating down the other end. They try again and it catches Johnny's stick since Johnny has to reach all the way out for it, but it ends up redirecting over the glass. 

This time, Johnny comes up to him. He shoves Patrick into the nearest board, his expression dark. 

"Kaner," he growls. "Grow the fuck up. Stop making this only about you."

And that's it. Patrick punches him, square in the mouth.

There's a collective gasp that echoes through the rink and then everyone's on the ice, pulling Johnny and Patrick away from each other. There's yelling and swearing and too many people talking. Patrick tries to shove them away from him, but it doesn't work. Seabs holds him back easily and throws a disapproving look at him. Patrick glares at him.

"Holy shit, he's fucking bleeding," someone's shouting. "Get somebody, fuck!"

"Jesus, Kaner, what the fuck is your problem?" someone else snaps.

"Shit, your lip is fucked, man," another person says to Johnny. "How's your teeth? Did you lose any?"

At that, Patrick angrily pushes away Seabs and heads off the ice, just as their team medic runs past him over to Johnny.

There's people calling him, telling him to _get back here, Kaner, seriously what the fuck_ \- but Patrick ignores all of them and walks into the locker room, smashing his stick aside in the hallway.

+

"I don't know what the fuck your problem is, Kaner, and I don't give a shit if you're mad at Johnny about something, but keep it off the fucking ice!"

Patrick can't even find it in himself to flinch at Q yelling in his ear after practice. He wants to go home and sleep until the game tomorrow night. In all honesty, it's scary to think about what will happen at the game tomorrow after what's happened today. Patrick will probably get pushed off the first PP unit, that wouldn't be a surprise. But Johnny always discusses gameplays to him when they're on the bench, so what then? What now? 

"Get some fucking rest," Q snaps. "And get your head out of your ass, Kaner, I fucking mean it. If you're going to come to the game tomorrow with the same fucking shit attitude you had today, don't come at all, you hear me?"

"Yes, Coach," Patrick says, and gets out of there before Q kicks him out.

He packs his things slowly in the empty locker room. It's no surprise that no one waited for him, after what he did today. But Patrick thinks back to it, and he feels worse not about punching Johnny, but for feeling guilty about it. He doesn't think he should feel guilty, and he sure as hell doesn't think Johnny deserves feeling guilty for.

Johnny's waiting for him outside in the parking lot when Patrick gets out of the arena. He's sporting a bruised mouth and a fat lip, and Patrick feels both bad and good.

Johnny stops him from walking past, a hand on Patrick's arm. "Kaner."

Patrick doesn't look at him. "Fuck off."

"I deserved that," Johnny says softly.

"What," Patrick laughs bitterly, still not looking up or turning to him. "Me saying ' _fuck off_ ' to you?"

"No. I deserved that punch. I probably deserve a couple more. Just - fuck, Kaner, I'm sorry."

Patrick clenches his jaw so tightly that it hurts. He can feel his anger building back tenfold, and Johnny's hand on his arm feels like it's on fire.

"Stop making this only about me," Patrick repeats. "' _Grow the fuck_ _up_ '. That's what you said, isn't it? Because it's obviously all my fault. Because that's obviously what I'm always doing: making it only about me. And now you're sorry. For what, Johnny? For saying that? For making everyone think I'm an asshole after I punched you? For blaming me when we switched bodies when you knew about it all along but not telling me? For using that and kissing me to confirm shit? What are you sorry for, Johnny? What do you want me to say? ' _Thanks_ '? ' _It's fine_ '? ' _I forgive you_ '? Go fuck yourself."

Johnny tightens his hold and Patrick flinches, trying to shrug Johnny off, but Johnny's grip is firm. "Kaner, just listen to me, please - "

"Get the fuck off me, asshole - "

"Kaner, come on," Johnny tries. "Please, just listen to what I have to say."

" _No_ ," Patrick says. "I don't want to. I don't want to listen to your bullshit. I don't fucking care. I don't give a shit. Okay, Johnny? I don't want to listen to what you have to say, because I don't care. _I don't fucking care_."

"I'm in love with you," Johnny says.

Patrick finally looks at him, his eyes hard. "Don't."

"Jesus," Johnny breathes out. "What can I do in order for you to believe me?"

"Maybe you should've admitted that back then," Patrick hisses. "Maybe you should've told me how you knew my fists are fucking magic. Maybe you shouldn't have said you knew there was something _wrong_ with my hands, like this is somehow all my fault even though you knew I didn't know about it. Maybe you should've told me about how your parents thought we were soulmates. Maybe you should've told me all this _way_ before you started annoying me about not bumping fists with you, or at least before kissing me. Maybe you shouldn't expect things from me, because, as you said, I need to grow the fuck up and stop making everything about me."

"Fuck, Kaner," Johnny swallows nervously. "I'm an asshole, I know. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything I did that ended up hurting you. And I'm not saying that apologizing now justifies for everything I've done, but I don't know what else to say. I didn't mean to hide what my parents told me. I didn't mean to hurt you. I didn't mean to make you feel like I was - using you. Because I wasn't, I fucking swear it, man. That's the last thing I'd ever want to do."

Patrick stares at him for a long time. "Then why didn't you tell me?"

Johnny breaks eye contact, his hand finally sliding off Patrick's arm.

"I didn't know what to say or how to bring it up. I knew you didn't know about it, because I would've known if you knew something, and you'd have probably let it effect you on the ice. But you didn't. I knew. I didn't - I didn't want to scare you by telling you if you didn't know anything yet. I wasn't even sure if my parents were telling the truth. But then I started noticing how cautious you always were with your hands. And at first I was scared you fucked up your knuckles or something, or maybe your wrist was acting up again, but then we switched. And I started slowly piecing everything together by myself, without even realizing.

"But I meant to tell you, I really did. That day you came up to me and told me Seabs thought I was in love with you, I had no idea what to do. I think a part of me knew that, whether or not the whole soulmate-bullshit my parents told me about was true, and whether or not you really were my soulmate, I think I knew I was already in love with you despite all that shit. I thought you knew, too, maybe. But at that moment, when you came up to me, it was terrifying. You were in my body, with my face, asking if it was true that I was in love with you. It felt like I was confronting myself, because it was my face and it was my voice. So I cowered. I didn't know what to say. I wanted to get back into my own body, have some time alone to think, and then tell you, as me.

"That night, too, before we switched back and after we talked things over, I thought about telling you everything. The soulmates thing, what my parents said, everything. But you turned and said ' _fist bump_ ,' and it caught me off-guard, and I didn't know what else to do but to do what you wanted. So I did. I got angry the next morning, after everything started to sink in, because if you switching bodies with people meant they were your soulmate, then maybe you could switch bodies with someone that's not me. Maybe I'm not your only soulmate."

Johnny takes a huge breath. He looks at Patrick, and Patrick looks right back.

"Jesus, Kaner. You have no fucking clue, but _fuck_ , I'm so fucking stupid in love with you."

It's not even the words that hits Patrick. What hits him the most is the way Johnny says them. 

Patrick's frozen in place, looking up at Johnny, his breath and his words caught in his throat.

Of all the shitty weather days in Chicago, Patrick never imagined he'd be caught out here, mid-winter, with Johnny confessing to him - but here he is.

Being with Johnny, thinking about Johnny, being mad at Johnny, being in Johnny's body, everything - all of those situations seem a lot more bearable right now than this moment. Patrick thinks about how fucking livid he was, when Johnny told him he knew everything, after he just kissed him, but he stares at Johnny now, those memories flickering fuzzily at the back of his mind, trying to resurface but can't quite.

What is this? He feels so out of place all of a sudden, like the person controlling his body isn't him. A part of him snorts at that unhelpfully, quelling the uneasiness in his gut for a moment before it comes back full force.

What _is_ this feeling?

"Johnny," Patrick tries, his voice unsteady. He can't feel his face or his hands now; maybe he's tuned out their sensations. Never mind them, because Patrick can feel his sanity slipping. "I - "

What should he _say_?

Johnny's in love with him. _Johnny's_ _in love with him_. Seabs wasn't lying; this isn't a joke. This is not a what if. This is not some sort of illusion. It's _real_.

Patrick stops: is _he_? Is - is he in love with Johnny, too? How come his fists and their parents think they're soulmates anyway? Can it really be that obvious?

Well - maybe it is. Because with Johnny, when Patrick really thinks about him, Johnny is as important as hockey and his family and friends are. Johnny takes up a huge chunk of Patrick's life, without Patrick even realizing, but it's so natural and comfortable that he'd only notice Johnny took that much space if he left, or when Johnny goes MIA for a couple of days when they're in a fight. It's scary, now, to really consider how big of a part Johnny's involved in his life.

Patrick had always chalked up his feelings for Johnny as another way of feeling respect, admiration, or envy. But he thinks about Johnny's dopey grin, his stupid habits, his black suits, his pre-game regime, his crazy workout routines and his even crazier diet plan - and his sweaty skin after a goal, his warm, brown eyes when he's really happy, his dedication to success and to other things that even his stubbornness can't compete with.

Patrick thinks back to the conversation with his sisters during his Christmas break. Thinks to what Erica said, that Patrick likes Johnny for all the things he hates about Johnny at the same time, that his feelings for Johnny were apparently obvious to the three of them.

And - oh. Maybe it was really that obvious.

"I - " Patrick tries again. Johnny hasn't looked away the entire time. "I need some time to think."

"I - okay, yeah, of course," Johnny says. "Take as long as you need. I'll wait."

Jesus, Patrick flushes. What now?

+

"Hello?"

Patrick hesitates upon hearing her pick up, but he pushes through, says, "hey, Erica," and then hopes the God he doesn't sound as scared and helpless as he is at the moment, curled up on the couch while absently watching the sky bury the streets with snow just outside the windows.

"Pat? Are you okay? You sound off."

Well, that didn't work. "I'm fine, don't worry about it," Patrick says quickly, even though it's obvious he's not fine at all. "Listen, I gotta ask you something."

"Okay," she says cautiously. "About what?"

"You promise not to tell anyone. Not even mom or dad or Jess or Jackie."

"Cross my heart."

Patrick breathes out, but he's still just as nervous. "Okay," he says slowly. "Um, so, Johnny told me he's in love with me."

Erica screams.

Patrick tells her to shut up, and then ends up telling her everything about the past couple months of Johnny and him, from the very beginning. He tells her about Johnny asking about why Patrick doesn't fist bump with him, about Johnny and him switching bodies, about Seabs telling him that Johnny's in love with him.

"See?" Erica interrupts excitedly. "Even _he_ knew."

"Shut up," Patrick says again.

He tells her about how Johnny couldn't admit it, how Patrick was fine with it, and they switched back. He tells her about finding out on Christmas Eve, and then calling Johnny, who'd told him how he knew that everything was basically Patrick's fault. Erica tells him he's exaggerating, and he totally doesn't ignore her, but he does pretend like he doesn't hear what she said.

"And then," Patrick says, continuing. "He came over, when I got back, and he kissed me."

Erica is so silent for a moment that Patrick has to check that she hasn't hung up.

"Wait," she finally says, her voice just above a gasp. "He _what_?"

"He kissed me?"

"Oh my God." Erica screams. Again. " _Oh my God_!"

"Anyways, and then he told me he knew everything: the soulmates, my hands, and he told me that he was in love with me."

" _Is_ ," Erica corrects, squealing. " _Is_ in love with you. And oh my God, he _kissed_ you!"

Patrick rolls his eyes. "Anyways, I was pissed and kicked him out. And then I punched him today."

" _What_?" Erica screeches. "You kicked him out?! You _punched_ him?! What the fuck, Pat?!"

"He told me I should stop making everything about me," Patrick seethes. "I'm pretty sure I had the right to punch him."

"Jesus, Pat! You ever thought about, I don't know, _talking_?"

"Well," Patrick trails off. "That's - we sort of just did that. Or, uh, Johnny did. He told me he's in love with me, and I told him I needed some time to think."

"You don't need to have time to think," Erica groans. "You're in love with him, too."

"How do you know that I do?"

Erica sighs loudly, exasperated. "Because I know _you_. You're my brother, of course I'd know! Don't you remember that time you talked to us for an hour about how unique Johnny's voice was? Or all those times you retold Johnny's ' _lame jokes_ ' to us, but you were the only one laughing at them? Or even a couple months ago, when you drunk-texted in the group: _lol Johnny is so hot_. Word for word."

Patrick flinches. "No, I didn't."

" - Yes, you did. You talk about Johnny all the time. _All the time_. Phone rings, I know it's going to either be about Johnny, hockey, or how cute Maddy and Sadie are. And, like, 90% of the time, it's about Johnny. Even when the other 10% of the time it's about hockey or something else, it's still something Johnny-related. _That's_ how much you talk about him."

"You're exaggerating."

"Am I?" Erica challenges. "Look, Pat, let me ask you a question. Why were you _really_ mad when Johnny told you he knew about everything?"

"What the fuck - obviously, because Johnny fucking hid it from me."

"Okay, but because you thought he was using you the whole time, right?"

"Yes?" Patrick grumbles impatiently. "Where are you going with this? And if you say I don't have the right to be pissed, then I'm hanging up and calling Jess. Or Jackie."

"What I'm trying to say is to listen to yourself, Pat. Why would you be mad about Johnny hiding that he knew from you if you didn't feel the same way for him? Why would you let him kiss you and not be surprised about _that_ over everything else, if you didn't feel the same? You're hurt because you thought he used you. You're mad because you thought, if he can blame everything on me and say it's my fault, maybe he doesn't even care about me, maybe he's not actually in love with me. Maybe, like everything else, this is not real. Maybe he's _still_ hiding something. Right?"

"I - " Patrick stops, frowning. 

"Think about it this way: if Johnny had admitted that he's in love with you from the very start, would you be more okay with this? If he'd told you that he knew everything from the start, would you have been fine with it?"

"That's - "

"He _kissed_ you, for crying out loud, and you didn't even stop to think for a moment if that was weird. You jumped straight into being mad that he was using you the entire time, but why would you get _that_ mad and care _that_ much about that if you didn't honestly feel something? Sure, you can be mad at him for saying it's your fault even though he knew about it and you didn't, but even if he was using you and wasn't really in love with you, it doesn't matter as much if you're not in love with him, either. Regular Pat would just be like, ' _well whatever, fuck you too_ ', and move on. Don't you get what I mean?"

Patrick opens and closes his mouth.

"You're in love with him, too, Pat," Erica says softly. "You're so stupid in love with Johnny that you can't even figure it out, because you've been in love with him for so long that it feels so normal and natural. That's probably also why Johnny kissing you wasn't all that weird to you."

Patrick lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding in.

"Thanks, Erica," he says finally, realization dawning on him in an instant. "I owe you one."

"Anytime, Pat," Erica says. "Go get him."

+

Patrick swerves dangerously into the parking lot of the Madhouse and stomps all the way into the arena, down the hallways, heading straight for the locker room.

He bursts in, red-faced, gear barely hanging onto his shoulder. He ignores the weird, surprised stares from the other guys and zeroes his gaze on Johnny, bee-lining his way to him.

In a moment, he's being held back by several hands, the guys thinking that Patrick's still mad at Johnny from yesterday and that he's here to duke it out with him in the locker room and possibly give him a black eye before the game.

"Whoa, whoa, easy, Kaner," they're saying. "C'mon, man, let's put it aside until after the game and then talk it out, yeah?"

"Let go," Patrick says, determined. "I _do_ want to talk it out with him, but I can't do it if I'm all the way over here."

"Oh," they say collectively.

"No more punching, man," someone warns.

"Yeah, no more fighting, _please_ , you guys give me a fucking headache," someone else chimes in.

Patrick ignores all of them. All he wants to do right now is to go up to Johnny and -

"Kaner?" Johnny looks nervous.

"Look," Patrick huffs. "I get it. You were trying to protect me or whatever. Fine, I get it. But I don't need that shit, man. You of all people should know that. You should've just told me from the start that you knew everything, then we could've solved it together. Then maybe we could've even switched back faster. We could've at least asked my parents for help! Or yours! Just - the point is, I get it, you didn't want to scare me. But if I was going to find out anyway, what was the point of hiding it from me?"

Patrick shoots Johnny a look when Johnny opens his mouth to reply. Johnny snaps his mouth closed, blinking.

"And another thing. You're in love with me. Great! I don't get why you have to make it so goddamn dramatic. Why do you take so fucking long to make up your mind? If you thought you were possibly in love with me, you should've told me right from the start! So that when we switched bodies, we could've been jerking each other off instead of awkwardly doing it ourselves! Also, Subway is fine and all, but seriously? That's your apology food? When we start dating, change that shit to pizza, got it?"

"Holy _shit_ ," someone says, and then it's echoed throughout the whole locker room.

"Um," Johnny says, flushing. "Does, uh, does this mean you're also - ?"

"Yes, you fucking dipshit, I'm trying to say that I'm in love with you, and I've been in love with you the entire time, but apparently I never thought it was, like, actual love, because being with you felt so natural." Patrick stops to catch his breath. "But if you hide anything else from me ever again, I swear to God, Johnny."

"Never again," Johnny grins. "Cross my fuckin' heart, Pat."

At that, Patrick closes the distance between them and kisses Johnny, right in front of everyone.

" _Holy shit_ ," everyone whispers, still in awe, but relieved in an exasperated sort of way. "Fucking _finally_."

+

Johnny and Patrick's passes finally link up for the second goal of the game, and this time, when Johnny crowds him to the boards in their goal celebration, Johnny says, "you're a fuckin' gem, Kaner. Seriously. I'm so fucking in love with you, with everything you do, everything we are. Everything is about always you, all the time. I mean it."

Patrick's chest tightens at those words, and he buries his smile into Johnny's shoulder.

"I knew it," Sharpy's saying after they win the game 4-3. He's tugging his jersey off, his breathing still uneven from playing overtime, but he still manages to sound excited as ever. "I _knew_ there was something weird going on between Johnny and you."

"The only thing that's weird is Johnny wearing socks to sleep," Patrick says.

"Heart eyes, man, control them." Sharpy recites with a grin. 

Apparently Sharpy knew since the day he went over to Patrick's for drinks when Patrick and Johnny first switched, but he shrugged it off.

"Seabsie, too. I think he knew that day on."

Patrick does a double take. "Seabs knew? But, then, when he told me in Johnny's body that he thought that Johnny's in love with me - "

"Yeah, well. I think he secretly kind of knew. But it was like me, shrugging it off because of the sheer absurdity of it being possible. In a way, though, if he was right - which he was - he was giving you a huge fucking hint."

"How was everyone so sure _I'm_ in love with Johnny?" Patrick huffs. Sharpy just laughs.

"Because, Peeks, it's so fucking obvious, you can't miss it."

+

"Hey."

Patrick looks up from where he's settled on Johnny's bed in back in Lincoln. He didn't know just how much he'd missed this now that he's here.

It's only been a week since Patrick's confession in the locker room - the rookies _still_ tease him about it, Shawzy especially - but it feels like ages since then. Patrick still can't quite wrap his head around what's happened in these couple of days, weeks, months. His life really _is_ like a movie, what the actual fuck.

"Hey," he says back, and lets Johnny pull him in, an arm around his waist, easy. They've never been this intimate before, but somehow it still feels like they have, still feels so natural and comfortable and _them_.

"Well, it didn't take you that long to think. You were in love with me the whole time?" Johnny smirks, cocky.

"Fuck you, Toews," Patrick says, but there's no heat to it.

"Sorry," Johnny says, totally non-apologetic. "Pizza?"

"Really?"

"No, not really, we have a game in two days. But, like, kale pizza is still on the menu."

Patrick laughs. "Jesus Christ, I fucking hate you."

Which, apparently, is a total lie, Patrick knows now.

When Johnny's not looking, Patrick finally sends a text to his parents.

_You guys were right. Finally found my soulmate even though he's been right next to me all these years. Hopefully there's no other catch to this fist bumping, soulmate-body-switch thing, or I swear to God._

He sends a similar text to the group chat with his sisters, and rolls his eyes at the immediate replies.

 _Pics_ , Jackie says.

 _OMG YES PICS_ , Jess says.

Erica sends a rolling-eyes emoji. _I was the one who helped you figure it out, dumbass_ , then, _but yup, you owe us pics_.

"My sisters wants pictures," Patrick says, and Johnny shifts his attention back to him. "C'mere."

Johnny goes, and Patrick positions his phone in front of them, thumb hovering the capture button, and then he kisses Johnny on the corner of his mouth.

He examines the picture, decides it's good enough, and sends it to his sisters and then everyone else.

"Come on," Johnny says, "you can't leave me with that."

"With what?"

Johnny kisses him, slow and sweet. His mouth makes Patrick feels like he's aflame, burning in all the right ways and every touch makes Patrick feel drunk in love.

When Johnny pulls away, Johnny says, "fist bump?" which totally ruins the mood, but it makes Patrick laugh because _yeah_ , it sounds ridiculous, but this is his life now and he wouldn't change it for the world. "Wait. This isn't going to make us switch again, is it?"

"Shut up, asshole. Just fist me," Patrick says, grinning when Johnny looks back at him horrified, and then they meet each other halfway.

**Author's Note:**

> [ **Trigger and spoiler warning** ]: Kane and Toews jerk off after they've switched bodies, only Kane kind of just goes for it, and Toews calls to ask if it's okay. 
> 
> Here's the line in particular that Kane says that might be triggering: _"Here, while were on the topic of confessing shit, I'll tell you something you should know: that morning you called me asking if you could jerk my dick off? Well, you didn't fucking have to, because I already jerked yours off the night before, without even asking. That's how much I don't give a shit about you, Johnny._ That's _how much you don't matter."_
> 
> Here's also a part from Kane's thoughts that might be triggering: _He deserved it, Patrick thinks, glaring at Johnny's dick in the shower. Fuck Johnny, maybe Patrick was supposed to feel guilty for jerking off Johnny's dick without asking first, but Johnny's an asshole, so why should Patrick care about it? Something at the back of his head reminds him that he's still in Johnny's body, that Johnny has a right to his own body whether or not they've switched, but Patrick just can't bring himself to care at this point. All he cares about is the fact that he'll never touch Johnny's dick again anyway, either in Johnny's body or back in his own, and Patrick is so frustrated with Johnny he can't even breathe properly._
> 
> There are also a few more lines from Kane's thoughts that can be insensitive, so if you decide to read the fic, please keep that in mind.


End file.
